


Skyships and yes, Dragons

by HeraldsEnjoin, last_sorceress, Maruna, Nervosa, WhiteTigger



Series: Skyships and yes, Dragons [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adventure, D&D, Discussions of Cannibalism, Dragonkin, Dungeon and Dragons - Freeform, Dungeons & Dragons 3.0 Edition, Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition, Fighting, Half-Elves, Half-Orcs - Freeform, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Homebrew, Misunderstandings, Original Characters - Freeform, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, cannibal, unusual societal norms, werehyena
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11725815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeraldsEnjoin/pseuds/HeraldsEnjoin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/last_sorceress/pseuds/last_sorceress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maruna/pseuds/Maruna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nervosa/pseuds/Nervosa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteTigger/pseuds/WhiteTigger
Summary: This is a cooperative story written about the events of a Dungeons and Dragons game. All of the characters are original, as is the world (the setting is an original world created by the DM). We will not be taking note here of the actual dice rolls - this will be written out like a story based on the rolls we make and the actions of our characters. The game itself is a homebrew based on 3.0 and 3.5 rules run from first level with some additions so if you see some deviations from what you expect then they’re likely a result of how we’ve chosen to run the game.





	1. Birchfoot can’t catch a break

**Author's Note:**

> Now, without further ado here’s an introduction to our creators and our characters:
> 
> last_sorceress (aka Elm): Razan Diharth [ Barbarian ] (Elm is also our DM)  
> HeraldsEnjoin : Beiric “Birchfoot” Tatharion [ Ranger ]  
> Nervosa : Somer Ambrose [ Cleric ]  
> Maruna : Faustus Atethemall [ Druid ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a cooperative story written about the events of a Dungeons and Dragons game. All of the characters are original, as is the world (the setting is an original world created by the DM). We will not be taking note here of the actual dice rolls - this will be written out like a book based on the rolls we make and the actions of our characters. The game itself is a homebrew based on 3.0 and 3.5 rules run from first level with some additions so if you see some deviations from what you expect then they’re likely a result of how we’ve chosen to run the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, without further ado here’s an introduction to our creators and our characters:
> 
> last_sorceress (aka Elm): Razan Diharth [ Barbarian ] (Elm is also our DM)  
> HeraldsEnjoin : Beiric “Birchfoot” Tatharion [ Ranger ]  
> Nervosa : Somer Ambrose [ Cleric ]  
> Maruna : Faustus Atethemall [ Druid ]

With spring just beginning to take hold, no one was expecting the particularly chill wind that sped down from the mountains known locally as the ‘Old Arm’ howling with the force of a winter storm. Thick clouds choked the sky until the sun was entirely hidden as snow fell with an air of finality upon the Apostle State of Greydor. Residents of the foothills and valleys beneath the unforgiving cliffs of rock and stone were driven to find whatever sources of warmth that they could find lest they be frozen on the open roads. Even those who would normally have avoided civilization were herded in from the wilds ahead of the storm which had driven off what few animals that hadn’t already migrated or hidden themselves away for the winter; they knew what was coming.

For a week the storm raged, burying the timber-town of Jalo in crystalline white nearly to the rooftops. The only buildings which did not require the inhabitants to dig themselves free of the snow were the church and the the local military outpost. It made for an odd sort of peacefulness as people quietly roused from their homes and began the arduous task of digging the streets out from beneath the snow. 

Six hours after the storm finally passed a few of the shops were already opening, mostly due to the fact that the local baker was offering hot meat pies made from a cow which had been unfortunate enough to pass away during the course of the storm. The smell drove people out and the other shops opened up quickly enough in the hopes of luring in customers. 

As Beiric Birchfoot shoveled snow he glanced at the sky for the umpteenth time. If there had been a break in the weather at least the weak winter sun would have warmed his back. As it was he found himself sweating from exertion and yet chilled by the icy wind. The same wind stole the sound from his scarf-wrapped ears and made him keep his eyes mostly closed. He knew his father and mother were probably rushing about inside their little workshop, packing his father’s bags and making sure he had everything he would need for the journey to the city. 

They had asked him to come along, to watch his father’s back and maybe find some work for himself within the cities walls. Beiric himself was unsure if that was what he wanted to do. Storms like this were dangerous on a good day, and if he had a choice he would persuade his father wait it out. But they needed to make sure they survived the season. So here he was, breaking his back to clear the drifts of snow away from their door.

“Birchie! Birchie!” A voice from behind Birchfoot yelled out across the snow, a tall and somewhat gangly guardsman named Jackson was trudging through the snow toward the half elf. Behind him was a smaller woman dressed in leather garb, with a fiery red braid tossed over her shoulder. She stood rigidly straight-backed, and silently followed behind the guard with a staff gripped tight in her gloves. She had a cold gaze, and looked quite irritated. The woman shot a sharp appraising eye to the guard as he shouted what she could only assume was the name of his pet dog.

“Birchie…?” she uttered, looking unimpressed.

“I need you to help this cleric take charge of some hoodlums while they make recompense for some damages.” The guard offered a hopeful smile to Birchfoot, ignoring the comment that the woman following him made in undertone.

Birchfoot stared him down, resting his weight on the shovel’s handle and pulling a sour face. “How much are you paying me?”

“One gold?”

“Not a lot of pay for having to be out in weather like this.” He glanced at the pissed off cleric and then back to the guard. 

“It’s that or shoveling.” 

After weighing the choices Birchfoot shrugged, knocking the snow off of his father’s shovel and vanishing inside the workshop to give his parents the bad news. At least his father would have to stay home for another day. 

Once he returned the guard led both the cleric and Birchfoot through the deep snow toward the military outpost. Somer - the cleric - grudgingly followed, toes growing colder by the second, half regretting that she had agreed to come with the guard, but the promise of a gold piece (though she was unsure she would be included in the cut) was quite promising. Considering the ‘chilly’ welcome she had been met with in this land, a cut of their gold would be much rewarding indeed...

Soon enough they came to an outpost where the guard deposited the two strangers so that he could converse with another guard. Birchfoot could easily overhear their brief conversation as Jackson asked for the release of the prisoners, but even afterwards the two guards continued to talk amongst themselves. The half-elf was uninterested for the time in his companion, and she seemed just as uninterested in him. She spent more time assessing her surroundings, though there was little more to see than the dull stone of the town fort and the endless white of snow. 

Two more guards exited from the guardhouse. The first was leading a dirty little dwarf girl, still chewing on the chain attached to an iron collar around her neck. She looked to be trying to sharpen her teeth on the metal though it was hard to tell. The guard himself looked uncomfortable with both the girl and the chain he was holding; staying as far from her as the length would allow. Behind them was the second guard a much taller youth. He had long pointed ears and a dark, almost olive skin-tone. He easily stood head and shoulders over the guard following him. Even so the guard didn’t seem that uncomfortable with him, and even offered the young man a brief pat on the shoulder before turning away to help the first guard to free the hairy, dirty dwarf girl.

Birchfoot stared at his ‘charges’, Somer’s own eyes wide at the sight that was dragged from the prison and presented as the newest addition to their party. The waves of stink coming off of the small hairy child forced the half-elf to pull his scarf around his nose in a hopeless attempt to block some of it. The other one seemed mostly harmless besides his height and muscle mass, but there was something about him that set both their teeth on edge. He was a little odd looking, and Somer couldn’t help noticing how his eyes kept flickering about; his muscles tense as if he were ready to run at any given moment. Without a word they were unanimous in thought; they would have to keep a wary eye on the man - effective immediately.

“Can I keep the chains?” asked Faustus, the dwarf girl as the guard unlocked her manticles. She still wanted to sharpen her teeth on it, or perhaps sell them somewhere. 

The guard looked at the young wild child with a mixture of disgust and mild horror as she unexpectedly addressed him. “Um… No.” There was an air of finality to the words.

“Awwww….” Faustus literally whined, but it was to no avail. Trailing along behind the her were two dogs, one seemed very happy with the snow, jumping into piles of it and leaping out to catching up with the group, while the other one stuck closer to the dwarf, as if unused to the white underneath his paws. 

Jackson watched the other guards walk off and smiled at Birchfoot. “So these are the two. Just take them out. They’re charged with dealing with a small pack of wolves that killed Agus’s prized bull. Once they do that they’re free to go. Good luck!” 

“Alright, well let’s go then.” Birch waved an unenthusiastic hand forward for the ramshackle band to follow him. At least the ranger knew where the farm was, so he could take them to the woods surrounding Angus’ property. With a sigh he started to lead them out into the snow covered landscape.

The farm was due north of the guardhouse, far from the town proper where Angus could allow his cattle to roam about and graze freely. It wasn’t a long walk, but the freezing weather and deep snow didn’t make it a particularly pleasant one. They didn’t approach the farm proper, but kept to the fields. There was obvious evidence that a small pack of wolves had been there recently; a splash of red blood across the white snow and large heavy footprints. However, once within the woods the tracks seemed to nearly disappear, leaving them with little to follow. The thick boughs above them made the effort even more challenging by cutting off what dim light that the overcast sky might have offered.

“Well,” Somer quipped through the extended silence, brows raised in sharp judgement at their quickly declining predicament. “Does anyone have any ideas? Sir Birchie?” She said flatly, and turned to the ranger with a tight frown. He glared at her as a response.

Among the group, the only ones who seemed entirely unperturbed were Faustus and her dogs whom he fondly had dubbed Guardy and Dogmeat respectively. Dogmeat was still miserable in the snow, which she couldn’t blame him for. No matter how much mud she put on herself it didn’t seem to be enough to insulate her from the snow. Which only served to make her feel envious of Guardy’s thick winter coat. She whistled at them quietly; sending them searching for the scent of the wolves they were tracking. Meanwhile she headed in the opposite direction herself hoping to find some sign of food for the group.

“Food tracks!” She shouted excitedly, finding a partial paw print hidden by some foliage. Only a moment of searching and she was already having good luck. Finally some good news in the frozen wasteland… how she missed the heat. 

However, just as some good luck had come upon them, bad luck was close behind.

“Wolves!” The quiet young man had been hanging back a little, avoiding the wild hairy child as much as possible, but now he stood taller, his whole body tense with expectation as a group of five wolves approached their location stealthily. Immediately Razen pulled a long chain which had been attached to the bottom of the pack he was carrying free as he took one large step forward and allowed the long spiked links to fall to the ground in preparation of attack. He wasn’t sure if the animals meant to attack or not, but he wasn’t going to be caught unarmed.

Faustus immediately started to shift. Her round face elongated to a snout and her blunt teeth became fangs. Stocky arms and legs become thinner and paw pads spread upwards from her palm. Bones and muscle warped to take on new form, including a long tail which sprouted from the base of her spine. The sound was horrific, but within seconds she was on all fours covered in thick shaggy fur; golden brown and spotted. A wild yipping bark like demented laughter rolled out of her muzzle, calling her dogs back to her side. Finally, the cold bothered her a little less. 

A pack of wolves were barrelling towards them, snow flying beneath their paws. Looking at them; Somer couldn’t help but freeze, mortified that this morning had escalated into what looked to be death breaking down her doors. _Then_ she heard a sudden and horrible fluttering and cracking sound, the feral dwarf’s body began to horrifically morph into a dog-like creature. Snow kicked up from its feet, splattering her clothes as she fumbled her staff into her hands. 

Horror of the werehyena aside, the wolves barreling down on them drew Birchfoot’s attention like lightning hitting a deadwood tree. In an instant he went from irritated and disinterested in his companions to focused. Calloused hands grasped his bow, unslinging it and nocking an arrow all in one fluid movement. He sighted a wolf, waiting with anticipation coiling through his abdomen and the world draining away to just the enemies in his sights.

Growling and snapping, the wolf pack split to attack them individually. One darted at Somer, who attempted to dodge it but tripped, her back slamming hard against the snow. Another grabbed Faustus’s guard dog by the throat, and bled the poor animal onto the snow. With a shake of its head the wolf shook the dog, snapping something vital and dropping Guardy into the snow dead, or very nearly so. The one that tripped Somer immediately darted in to grab her arm and bite down hard enough to tear muscle. Even Razen with his spiked chain was hit, one of the wolves sinking its teeth into the muscle of his leg through his thick winter furs, and causing blood to flow freely. He roared in pure rage at the creature, the pain only a small secondary consideration now. Red spilled over his vision.

The wolf biting the cleric’s arm drew Birch’s arrow, the barb hitting it in the flank. He hissed out a curse between his teeth, the roar of the mountain of a man behind him making him bristle and risk a glance over his shoulder. Wrapping the spiked chain around his fist, the young man smashed his spiked chain into the head of the wolf and smashed its skull in. The creature fell away from his leg - dead. 

Somer screamed as another wolf darted through her legs, knocking her onto the ground and digging its teeth into her arm. Pain seared through her body and hot blood splattered onto her cheek. Immediately instinct took over as she loudly cursed and prayed to Boccob for his help to stop time. Just as the wolf’s jaws opened for another bite, the world went silent and still. All of the people and the wolves seemed to come to a halt. Snow floated eerily about her, time paused for all but Somer. The murderous eyes of the wolf gazed down at her, she knew she did not have much time to marvel at it. She tried to right herself, but her quivering body and bleeding arm were unwilling to cooperate and it took all the strength she could muster to push herself to her feet. Blood fell from her arm and hovered in the air as it became separate from her time then fell in a rush to the ground as Beccob’s blessing faded. Clutching her throbbing arm, the cleric prayed to Boccob with angry fervor once more and light burst from her hand; healing her bleeding limb and burning the blood away.

As time returned to normal the were-hyena and her companion attacked the wolf that had so brutally tossed aside the dog she called Guardy. In concert she punched the wolf in the snout with her clawed fist while Dogmeat latched onto the wolf’s scruff. Together the canines let loose some noise that no animal should make. 

Birchfoot took careful aim, and while his first arrow had barely grazed the beast he’d aimed at his second did much better. With a shaft jutting out of the monster’s eye the wolf fell into the snow. He turned, looking for the beast that had lunged at him fruitlessly. What he saw instead was Razen charging towards him and the hairy beast. Like a mammoth he rushed right past the smaller half elf and smashed his makeshift weapon into the wolf which let out a pained yelp, it’s leg nearly useless now. It tried to turn, limping to flee from him but with a roar he bashed his fist into its spine driving it into the snow and crushing its bones.

Dogmeat continued to attack the wolf threatening Faustus, backing off a little just so he would have enough room to try and aim for the throat. Faustus took the opportunity to have a good look at Guardy. She was barely alive, bleeding out... but still living. Carefully she laid a clawed hand on the injured dog, a blue glow rising up and closing the wounds so that at least Guardy wouldn’t bleed to death. Hopefully it would be enough keep her alive until Faustus could scavenge some berries. She hardly even noticed that the wolf Dogmeat was attacking had finally had enough. The animal turned, fleeing with Dogmeat nipping at its heels. Birchfoot let loose another arrow, hitting the bloodied wolf before it could get more than a foot away and it followed its fallen brethren by collapsing into the reddened snow.

Now only one beast remained.

“Shoot it, half-elf! SHOOT IT!” Somer roared for Birch to act. After what they had done to her, she didn’t want to see them get away!

Without even breaking a sweat Birchfoot pivoted on his heel and took a single shot, the arrow screaming through the frigid air and splitting the wolf’s skull in two. He blew out a breath and looked towards the cleric, raising his brow. “And so, I have shot it.”

Bleeding heavily from the injury on his leg Razen clutched his injury, his face seething with anger as he took a stoic step forward and pointed in the distance between the trees at a massive creature bigger than the wolves that had attacked. It was so well hidden that even with his finger pointing at it only Somer noticed that the razor spikes that sprouted from its mane were not a part of the bush which it was using as cover. “You have not shot _that_.”

Somer squinted at the strange spikes protruding from the bush. Whatever was behind there moved very slightly, and she saw what looked to be the muzzle of a wolf peek through a clear spot in the branches. But, something… was wrong. Its mouth curled in a way that she would think not physically possible, and its gleaming eyes moved unnaturally fast.

“That is… there is... “ She struggled to find words, because she herself didn’t know what she was looking at. “There is another wolf there, but it… is _not_ a wolf. It watches us from behind the branches there where the large man points, just next to that dead tree.”

“Dire wolf.” Birchfoot stared at the real monster before them, shifting his feet once again so that he was half turned away from it. This was a creature he hadn’t expected to run into this close to Jalo. Huge, dangerous, and hyper intelligent. There was almost no chance they would survive fighting that. “We should retreat. _Slowly_. Carefully.” It could have simply been an elf out to terrorize the local humans but was the chance worth a likely death? 

The ‘large man’ nodded in agreement, shaking himself a little and turning his back on the creature, green eyes sliding over the cleric. “My name is _Razen_.” The tone of his voice was less than pleased, as if her words had him more concerned than the creature that could well eat him now at his back.

Somer’s face remained stoic, brows raising slightly, as she turned her head slowly to face who she now knew as Razen. After meeting his eyes, and without an ounce of concern or a word to him, she turned back to look at the half-elf. “No need to tell me twice, dear Birchie.” She kept her voice low, half turning her body as well, but keeping her eyes on the dire wolf that still watched them.

”Birchie” reached out to grasp the nape of the were-hyena’s neck before the filthy child could inch any closer to the wolf corpses she was salivating over. “ _No_.” His whispered voice was hard as iron as he began to back away, gold eyes sharp on the hulking dire wolf’s massive shape. 

Faustus followed the line of sight and saw the dire wolf. With everyone agreeing to leave, she had no choice but to follow, Guardy was too injured to do anything and Dogmeat couldn’t fight that thing alone. But she doesn’t have to like it, or leaving the wolf corpses behind. Still, she backed off a little, standing up again and letting the fur and snout recede back. It was as disconcerting to watch her return to her natural shape as it was to watch her turn into some monstrous werehyena, but at least when she was done this time her form seemed a little more natural. 

As Dogmeat moved to rejoin her Razan casually swatted at him, hitting the dog on the nose to keep it from trying to drag off one of the wolf carcasses for the dwarf and in the same motion hoisting her other pet over his shoulder. “ _No_.” 

“Weeeh!” Faustus whined and tried to grab Guardy back, but her dwarf genes meant that she would never reach Razen’s shoulder where her pet lay whimpering. Even knowing that Guardy was no longer bleeding could not assuage her concern, but it was enough to make her forget for the moment about the free food they had to leave behind. She followed after Razen like a lost puppy crying for her favorite toy. 

By the grace of Obad-Hai the party managed to escape without inciting the wrath of the dire beast, Birchfoot leading them back towards Jalo once he was sure that they were not about to lose their lives. As eventful as the journey into the forest the way back out was almost a pleasure, the woods practically parting for them as they slogged through wet snow. It was getting colder now with the hours they’d lost tracking the wolves more than half lost in the woods. Finally Jalo was in sight, and with it the end of Birchfoot’s obligation. At least, as soon as the motley crew was returned to the guards.

Jackson was still standing outside the guardhouse, chatting with one of his fellows about the unseasonable weather and other random things. He noticed the group long before they drew close, even offering a small wave to them but he kept talking with the man at his side until Birchfoot was within a few feet. “Hey Birchie your gang is looking a bit the worse for wear. How’d it go?”

“The wolves are dead. Your prisoners and the cleric did their jobs.” Birchfoot held out his hand, waiting for the gold piece he had been promised.

Somer, who had been asked so nicely to do this deed for this guard in this god-forsakenly-lawful land, saw her chance to receive her just reward. However the words confused Faustus, who clearly remembered the huge dire wolf they’d left behind. “And shall I also be paid -”

“What about that big one tho?” The two spoke nearly at the same time, with Faustus’ words climbing over the cleric’s.

“- for the work you asked of me?” 

Jackson paused, his fingers half wrapped around the pouch that held the money he’d been given to pay with. “Wait… You guys didn’t kill all the wolves?”

“Not the same beasts.” Birchfoot wondered sometimes why he accepted these kinds of jobs. Somehow something always made it difficult to him. Still, he kept his hand steady and his eyes boring into Jackson’s. “The child is mistaken.”

The half-elf had his hand outheld but even a blind man could have read the guilt and half-lie on his face, and the guard watched the child in question as she jumped up and down in front Razen in an effort to retrieve her pet. He didn’t look at the guard at all, his eyes glued to the ground. 

“We killed them pack of wolves you asked us to kill. The dire wolf appeared later and was not interested in… conspiring with the wolves before then, or after they were dead in the snow. We did what you asked, and you should expect no more.” Somer’s smile disappeared and returned to her stoic confidence as she offered a cool rebuttal in Jackson’s direction.

 _Dire wolf_. The guard mouthed the words to himself and looked at Birchfoot in horror. “You saw a _dire wolf_ and you left it _alive_?” His voice was incredulous. 

Birchfoot stared at the cleric as she let slip exactly what animal they had left alive. His entire face spoke of his disappointment. It was enough to make Somer’s face redden and her lips tighten at her careless mistake. She took a long breath, and then met the guard’s eyes sheepishly. Before she could try and cover up her own mistake Birchfoot cut her off and sighed.

“It was either kill what you tasked us to kill, or die to what you didn’t task us to kill, Jackson.” Birchfoot shrugged and let his hand drop, resting it at his waist. “I don’t know anyone in the area equipped to slay a dire wolf, do you?” He arched one eyebrow at the younger man.

The words made the young guard look a little uncomfortable. He’d looked up to Birchfoot for years and yet… His job was public safety. “You can’t be sure that thing didn’t kill that bull Birchfoot. Or that it wasn’t leading the wolves or something. Hextor says ‘sacrifice for the good of all’. You have a bow, and a cleric!” He motioned to Somer with a hand. “What more could you ask for than a good bow and the blessings of the gods?”

Razen didn’t help with this situation, standing there in stoic silence. Finally frustration won over Faustus who after her outburst had focused her attention solely on Guardy. “Give back Guardy! She’s hurt! Just give her baaaaaaack!” She literally wailed aloud, choosing to just _climb_ the guy to get to her dog. In spite of her added weight Razan managed to hold his stance as she clamored for his shoulder. It made for an odd background to the more serious conversation, but the dwarf simply didn’t care what everyone else was doing.

Somer was trying so desperately to hold herself together as the uncontrollable child rabbled behind them, spoke up. “I, unfortunately, am not a miracle-working cleric at this point in my life, I have… mainly helped to cart nobles about as my work. I know a few spells, but I am far from experienced, I am… ashamed to admit.” And after her mistake earlier, she was certainly was feeling _quite_ ashamed of herself. Her pride that she so favored had been wounded by her own carelessness.

Jackson only looked more uncomfortable with this admission, finally shaking his head. “You know the law Birchfoot. You’ll have to figure something out.”

The ranger frowned deeper. Razan was bleeding heavily, the dog on his shoulder in even worse shape. “We will need time and more supplies. But if we have no choice then we have no choice.” He glanced at the group around him. “For now I am cold, wet, and tired. Is that all you need of me?” 

“Of course, of course. Just try to take care of it before we lose any more cows.” He laughed but the sound was a little strained.

As the half-elf turned, uncertain as to whether or not to leave these people behind or actually invite them back to his home, Razan took a small step forward, his mouth opening to ask a question but before he could do that he keeled over. Like a rotting tree he toppled, trapping Faustus’s foot under his shoulder, and her poor pet Guardy flopped to the ground bonelessly. She tried her best to keep his weight off of her dog, pushing with what little strength she had to pull Guardy into her own arms. 

Somer turned to Birch, brows raised and frowning before she knelt to check on Razan. The other two had escaped the fall unharmed any further it seemed. “... you live near here, yes? I believe one of our companions needs aid as soon as possible, Sir Birchie.”

Birchfoot sighed and knelt next to the giant of a man. “My name is not ‘Birchie’” The only answer he gave the cleric before helping the dwarf child out from under Razan’s prone form. He could feel Jackson’s hopeful eyes on the back of his skull, and after feeling for a pulse he sat back on his heels and sighed. 

“Help me take him to my home, then. We will have to patch him up.” With a grunt of effort he began hauling the much larger man up so that Jackson could help him drag Razan back to his house through the snow. 

Absolutely nothing about today had gone according to plan.


	2. Somer has her hands full

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a new member added to our party!!! Also we've decided to place languages that aren't 'common' and aren't understood by everyone in a scene in brackets. That will help make it clear what's emphasis or thought and what's a different language.
> 
> last_sorceress (aka Elm): Razan Diharth [ Barbarian ] (Elm is also our DM)  
> HeraldsEnjoin : Beiric “Birchfoot” Tatharion [ Ranger ]  
> Nervosa : Somer Ambrose [ Cleric ]  
> Maruna : Faustus Atethemall [ Druid ]  
> WhiteTigger: Meradin Thorin [ Wizard ]

It was much warmer within Beiric’s small home than it was outside, though with so many people inside, it was perhaps a bit more crowded than was strictly comfortable. After all, it was little more than an apartment attached to a storefront. Jackson helped settle Razen before the hearth fire so that his wounds could be looked at before offering a brief goodbye and returning to his post. Faustus tried to remain close at hand, but the half-elf refused to let her into his house covered in mud and other things as she was. She would need a bath later but for the moment Razen’s injuries took priority. A task which fell to Somer and to Beiric’s mother who stopped packing her husband's things for his trip once their guests arrived. 

Blood had soaked into Razen’s winter wear from upper thigh nearly down to his knee, and the wound was worryingly near vital veins. Rather than ruin his clothes or strip the large man, a poultice and bandages were applied, as well as a small prayer to Boccob to speed the healing on its way. His color still seemed a bit off, but it was undoubtedly due to blood loss, and he was deemed healed.

Fatigue wracking her body, Somer staggered away and washed her hands of blood. She quickly discarded her chilly leather armor and skirt, and was revealed to be a slight woman with not much in terms of womanly shape. She wore a ribbed, wool turtleneck sweater which she had prudently tucked into black wool pants. While she made herself comfortable Beiric’s mother calmly announced that she would make some cider to refresh and warm them after their journey. 

Half an hour later the delicate woman was handing out hot mulled cider to her son and his guests, including the young man who was roused by the scent of it. With that done she succinctly opened up the door and dragged in the dwarf child by the ear for a good washing in the tub. As Beiric knew from personal experience, it hardly mattered how small and fragile his mother looked, the woman got her way inevitably. So, into the cold water Faustus went with everyone trying their utmost to ignore the high-pitched, pitiful whines that rose from that corner of the room.

Even once Faustus was clean, Beiric’s mother was not done with her. The woman sat the child down to try and make some sense of her hair while the girl sat half covered with a blanket and a small cup of cider beside her as a peace offering. “So, Beiric, how long will your friends be staying with us?”

Beiric observed his ‘friends’ with a jaundiced eye before sipping the hot cider in his hands. “Hopefully not long, mother. We have been tasked by the guard to hunt in the woods.” He sighed and looked down at the mostly prone Razen and then the healer. “I am Beiric, you may call me Birchfoot. How soon until you will be ready to head back into the woods?”

Immediately Razen spoke up, his cup of cider already emptied, though he toyed with the mug it had been in from time to time. “I can go now!” Green eyes flashed toward the cleric in a sort of competitive triumph. “And my name is Razen. Razen Diharth.”

Seated not far from the hearth, Somer had eagerly taken the cider with polite thanks, feeling she had been treated well for what was the first time in this land. Her meditation broken by Beiric’s questions, and then Razen’s outburst, Somer continued to nurse her drink quietly as Razen revealed his name which was obviously orcish in nature.

' _Oh, I thought he was a part orc…_ ' she thought to herself, recognizing Razen’s surname as such, and with a rather unfortunate meaning at that. Lowering the cup from her lips, she reached over to Razen, who was stunned she touched him, and she gently pushed him back into a prone position. “We are not going anywhere this night, Sir Homeless,” she chided, referencing the meaning of his name. “You may be healed, but we all need rest. Besides, the dwarf child is still quite damp.”

A small whimper sounded from across the room as though to emphasize this fact as Faustus finished her cider quickly, desperate for anything warm. Dogmeat tried to ease her discomfort and snuggle with her under the blanket where she was still shivering. Somer ignored Faustus’ whimpering, and turned to Beiric.

“I am Somer Ambrose, now that we are finally introducing ourselves,” a knowing smirk glanced across her almost perpetual frown, “I assume none of us were expecting to have to deal with one another for quite this long, yes?”

Irritably, Razen interrupted smacking Somer’s hand which had lingered in spite of her dismissal of the half-orc away from his chest; growling and flashing incisors that were far larger than they should be. “Are you saying I am too _weak_?”

Somer’s brows raised, and she appraised his snarl for a moment. “I believe the facts speak for themselves, since I was able to push you back to rest.”

Green eyes brightened with rage. “I _let_ you.” Razen forced himself back upright and clutched at his spiked chain. “I will fight you, and then we will see who is strongest!”

Somer took another sip of her cider, and lowered her eyelids at the young man, unimpressed. “No one is fighting here, as the problem is that we as a whole could not fell that beast, not whether or not _I_ am stronger than you. You are welcome to go alone, though, _if you wish_.”

A challenge now was too much for Razen to take, and he pushed himself to his feet. “As you wish then, Somer of Ambrose. I go alone!”

The cleric sighed. She thought he may have a lick of sense and the ability to detect sarcasm, but that had proved wrong. She did not want to find the idiot’s body planted face down in the snow the next morning and feel like it was due to her own foolish ‘encouragement.’ Quickly she grabbed the edge of his tunic, and when he looked down she met his gaze seriously for the first time, “No, child, you do know why we retreated, yes? We are no match for it’s power.”

“I am not a child, cleric.” He seemed to be wrestling a bit with his temper. “Besides… why should we hunt it at all? For some stupid law?”

“Yes, exactly.” Beiric shucked off his bow and quiver, setting them aside as he spoke up at last. “That is how Greydor works, and since you are here in Jalo within Greydor, you will have to follow the rules of this place until you leave.” Gold eyes fixed on Razen, narrowing. “Beyond that, Razen _Diharth_ ,” He said the name with a twist to his lips that made it clear he too now knew that the giant of a man was in fact a half-orc. “If you leave I will be ordered to chase you. Any of you. Until this task is done we are trapped together.”

“What’s a ‘law’?” Faustus asked the lady who was still attempting to try to deal with her hair, but the woman hushed her, instructing the child to listen to the conversation as she might learn something from it. The dwarf grumbled and sank her body further into the blanket, but obeyed for the moment.

Razen looked the other man up and down, as if weighing his measure and finding it a little lacking. Even so, he could tell that Birchfoot could handle himself, had seen the man’s hands in action on his bow and hunts were not always about the force of a fist - particularly when it could be decided by a shot from afar. “Fine, then we hunt. I am not afraid. Even to face it alone if I must.”

Now that _that_ matter was decided, Somer cut in and addressed Beiric. “While we are on that subject… perhaps we should discuss what we plan to do about this mess. I find it strange that such a powerful creature did not simply kill us, especially after we slaughtered some lessers of it’s kind. You are a hunter, Birchfoot… were you able to discern anything from it before we fled?”

As the group resettled to discuss things Beiric’s mother got to her feet and poured them another round of hot cider with a kind smile for them all. Faustus took this moment to get up and go to her other dog. Guardy had recovered well in front of the hearth and that place was also warm so that was where she wanted to stay and listen. Plus she was sick of getting her hair pulled for no reason. So she settled down with her two dogs curled around her and listened in on the conversation that they were having largely without her. No one had mentioned yet what a ‘law’ was and that disappointed her. As did the fact that Beiric’s mother withheld her cup of cider.

While the child settled in with her dogs Beiric continued to strip off the outer layers of armor he was wearing, leaving only a brightly colored tunic and thick pants on as he thought of how to best answer Somer’s question. “I have never run into a dire wolf before.” He ignored the way his mother stiffened at the revelation. “But I have heard many things. Bigger, stronger, smarter than any wolf besides perhaps a lycanthrope. It spent the time we took retreating watching us, but made no threatening moves as far as I could tell.” He gathered the coils of his hair up and knotted them high on his head to keep them out of his face before finally accepting the cup from his mother. 

“We should find this… lie-can-thrope and make them fight one another!” Razen grinned enthusiastically around his mug.

“I don’t wanna fight it.” Faustus said, scratching her two dogs. “Can I talk to it?”

Ignoring the dwarf’s questions, as she did not know the answer, Somer wracked her brain a little as Beiric threw out the word lycanthrope. From what she had heard, they were animals that turned into humans by the light of any of the full moons, but she thought it might be prudent to check with the hunter. “Isn’t that a strange creature who turns into a human…?” she asked sheepishly, twisting her brows into an unsure knot.

“I have never seen one, but as I understand it, it’s the other way around.” Beiric shrugged. “It is rare, and hopefully we won’t run into one as they are unpredictable.” He looked over at the dwarf child and her dogs. “But perhaps… You are all aware this is a death sentence, yes?” 

Razen rubbed his fingers together, his cup already empty once again. “Yes. It is.” Green eyes met Beiric’s solidly. “I have no wish to be hunted like the wolves we killed before Birchfeet. I would rather meet my foe face-to-face.”

Somer silently cursed this country, and Hextor with it! She let the weight of Beiric’s words sink in for a moment. She had known what the task meant when her tongue had slipped so foolishly, but she was not one to give up easily. Somer too, met Beiric’s eyes. “I agree that rising to meet your fate can be... _admirable_ , but I do not intend to go into this situation so ill equipped. If the creature is smarter than other wolves, or is even perhaps a lycanthrope… the shape-shifting child’s question stands: Do you think we can talk to it?”

“That isn’t the worst of ideas.” The ranger looked over into the fire. “It would at the least understand our words. Perhaps we can talk our way out of our own deaths.” Before he could continue his train of thought the child on the floor spoke up.

Faustus’s cheek puffed up. “I’m not a shape-shifter! My name is Faustus and I’m a lycan!”

The outburst caused the group as a whole to stare at the dwarven child, Razen’s brow in particular furling. He disliked the idea of throwing the small one of their group at the beast and hoping for the best. “So… Perhaps the lycan idea is a bad one. She can not fight it on her own.” His tone made it clear what he thought of _that_. 

Beiric sighed and rolled his shoulders. “No, but perhaps we can convince it together.” He didn’t look excited at the prospect. Instead he looked resigned, boxed into a corner with no viable options left. 

The thought of trying to talk to the beast and reason with it only made Razen even more uncomfortable. “If we can not, then we will be its dinner I think.”

Somer’s eyes darted at Razen, looking quite displeased at the mental imagery he had conjured, “Yes, that is… very likely. We must be prepared to attempt to strike it down if necessary… but I am unsure we would be able to do that. None of us seem to be particularly skilled warriors.” Somer stole a glance toward Faustus, whose cheeks were still quite puffed.

Immediately Razen pounded his chest with a fist, making the large scale plates there rattle. “I have slain a mighty wyrm with my hunt-mates! I can take on this mere wolf if need be!”

The cleric idly fiddled with her big toe, not even bothering to look up as Razen went on another tirade about his supposed strength, “I will believe it when I witness such feats with my own eyes. Though, you did kill a couple of those wolves with some… vigor, so I will give you credit for that. So did Birchfoot. Though, a wyrm is not a dire wolf. It may be a very different sort of battle.”

Razen’s cheeks turned a mottled reddish brown, and he irritably tossed aside the mug in his hand. The wooden cup cracked against the mantle and broke with a harsh sound. “Enough of this!” His words were harsh and he rose to his feet with an air of finality. “If you think me so weak then meet me in battle cleric, but I will not take another of your words against me. I stayed to hear of battle plans not insults.”

Both Guardy and Dogmeat jumped up at the sound of the thrown cup as it broke in half, each grabbing a piece and taking it dutifully to Faustus. “Adults outside of Samantra are weird,” she mumbled, her voice low as she took the broken wooden pieces from her dogs. Placing the pieces together, a green energy flowed from her hands, going into the grains of the wood and slowly fusing them back together. Seconds later the cup was back to normal. Rather than handing it back to anyone else, however she threw the cup again, allowing her two dogs chase after it. One of the mongrels bumped into Razen’s leg and he growled at it, making both of the dogs skitter away from him. There wasn’t really enough space in this small room for a game of fetch. 

Faustus’ mumbling reached Somer’s ears, and despite the irritated half-orc-man towering over her, the mention of Samantra… her brows raised in surprise, for she recognized the name. The name of a place overrun and ruled by undead and from which no man had ever returned alive? She stared at Faustus with a newfound, yet tentative, respect. Only then remembering the second threat she had received this night, and meeting Razen’s eyes coolly.

“I simply do not tolerate braggarts well, Razen. If you wish to challenge someone who is certainly not as skilled as yourself, which I would call rather dishonorable, then that is your problem. I do not accept your challenge,” she huffed, closing her eyes a moment, “I do not take empty words lightly, I accept actions. If you wish to prove your strength, then do well against the dire wolf, or whatever may come our way, if it comes to that. That is all I will accept as proof.”

“You fear death.” He said it like the worst insult, walking to the front door of the small house and opening it to the freezing wind outside. Green eyes settled on Birchfoot for a moment. “I will kill the beast so hunt me not Beiric. I will settle this for us all.” 

The door slammed behind him forcibly.

“Really?” Beiric stared at the shut door before hurriedly pulling on his gear once again. “I’m getting paid for this kill. And there is no coin if the half-orc ends up dead.” He glared briefly at Somer as he shrugged back into his soggy leathers that hadn’t been able to dry in the short time they had been near the fire. “Let’s go.” He grabbed his quiver and bow, pressing a brief kiss to his mother’s cheek before chasing after Raz.

Faustus threw off her blanket, though her old habit made her take a moment to roll it up into a tight bundle and hand it back to the lady with a cheerful thank. Then quickly follow the elf outside. It would be nice to get another friend, perfect if it was the dire wolf. The burst of cold air reminded her of her lack of clothes, which were still inside the house. She couldn’t be bothered doubling back to get it at the moment, so she simply changed to her hyena form and trotted after the Beiric. Besides which it was nighttime and she couldn’t see why anyone should be bothered to notice that there were three dogs trailing after the half-elf.

' _By the gods, he truly is a fool…_ ' Somer thought to herself as Razen stomped out to ‘prove’ himself. She digested Beiric’s scowl and Faustus’ cheerful transformation and exit, and resigned to her sharp tongue causing trouble once more. It was her turn to sigh, and she donned her leather armor once more, still not wishing to see the young fool dead in the snow on her watch. With a short thank you to Beiric’s mother, she strode out into the cold winds.

“Razen, stop!” Beiric wasn’t that far behind the other man, but the half-orc was fast, already outpacing the ranger in the moments it took him to pull his gear back on. “Wait until the dawn at least!” His breath billowed white in the cold spring air.

The words did cause the larger man to pause for a moment, frowning at his trail of followers and stubbornly deciding he was done with all their talk. Their insults. He waved a hand for the half-elf to cease following him and continued on his way toward the military outpost where one of the guards suddenly let out a loud scream of terror. 

“What in the holy name of Hextor is _that_?” 

Razen paused, stalled in the snow and pointed to himself in confusion, but it was not the half-orc that the guard was now aiming a bow at. Somer, who was very much the slowest of the pack, gasped at the guard’s high-pitched shriek and the bow pointed at the transformed dwarf child. Genuinely fearing for Faustus’ life, she desperately lifted her fingers to her lips and whistled into the night air, hoping the lycanthrope would understand her plan.

“FAUSTIE! Get back here, girl!!”

Faustus stopped in her track, she could see the arrow from the guard and definitely knew it was aimed at her. She rolled her eyes and trotted back to the cleric obediently. As much as she hated this plan - because this is not how you treat a werehyena - she knew the guards were little better than screaming babies who needed to be placated. She had learned at least that much since travelling out of the undead infested wasteland.

Even though the large animal turned away the guard seemed less than certain that the thing was... safe. “Is that… a… your dog?” He yelled the question across the snow at Somer.

The lycan sighed inwardly and resigned herself to really playing the part. She moved forward, nuzzling at the cleric. This all might be worth it if Somer scratched right behind the ear where a tic had been annoying her for days on end…. The cleric grinned heartily and as fondly as she could at the lycanthrope catching her breath a little as she knelt. She tried to make sure to turn her body slightly to attempt to block as much of the were-hyena as she could without seeming suspicious. With a twinge of shame, but a higher sense of need for survival, she vigorously started to scratch all over underneath Faustus’ chin and behind her ears as any loving dog owner would.

“ _That’s my good girl_!” she cooed as loudly as she could, and turned next to project her voice to the guard, “Yes, sir! I am sorry if she startled you, she is a rather large pup! Been with me since I was a small thing!”

Unconvinced the guard only half lowered his bow. “We’re on lookout for a giant wolf so… keep your dog inside okay lady?” He shook his head and cursed quietly.

“Yes, sir!” Somer shouted as best she could to sound like a demure, obedient lady of the law.  
She rose to her feet, daring not to take another step towards the guard to try and protect Faustus.

“Razen, let’s go back with them.” Beiric raised his brows and tipped his head towards Somer and the little were-dwarf.

In truth the large man felt oddly superfluous standing there waiting to be sure that no one was going to be shot while the dwarf girl pretended to be some kind of pet. He had no desire to return to the small house with the others but… If he fought with Beiric now over the matter it was sure to draw the guards attention and lead him right back to jail. With three smooth steps the half-orc drew up to the smaller man, looking down at Beiric seriously. “I do not trust that _milk-drinker_.”

With a cautious smile Beiric shrugged and started walking back towards his parent’s home. “You only have to put up with her until the dire wolf is dead.” He hesitated before patting the larger man’s back, shaking his head and meeting back up with the woman and the beast in the snow. The look on his face was pure exasperation, though he had almost spoiled Somer’s lie by laughing at their quick thinking and the way the were-child seemed to relish getting treated like a dog.

“Back home then, all of us.”

* * *

Breakfast was fresh bread and bowls of a surprisingly tasty pottage provided by Beiric’s mother who had ushered everyone to makeshift beds in different locations to keep them from arguing with one another over the matter further. It was clear to everyone that Razen and Somer did not get along well, and rather than allowing tempers to flair, they were separated. At least the warmth of morning seemed to have set everyone in slightly better spirits, or perhaps it was just the food. Certainly Beiric’s mother seemed well-suited to making much out of little. 

While everyone else ate however she pulled her son to the side, leading him into their small shop for a bit of privacy. “Beiric… I’m worried about you. About you hunting down something like this with… well these strangers. It’s not safe.”

He couldn’t help the shrug that lifted his shoulders. “There doesn’t seem to be any other choice, mother. The guards have demanded it, and it would take time to go out to try and find any rangers left in the area.” Paying lip service to a god alone was one thing, he didn’t think that he could convince an entire group of hunters to do the same for little to no reward.

“Perhaps…” She flickered her eyes toward the door to the shop and then toward the one that led back into the house. “Perhaps you should stop by the small shrine to the moon goddesses in the forest. Perhaps they can offer you some measure of blessing.” The half-elf woman pulled a small object from her pocket and pressed it into her son’s hands, a crystal pendant which she’d kept for years.

Beiric tied the pendant around his neck and tucked it into his shirt, knowing what it cost his mother to give it to him. She had come from the forest in the north, had always shown disdain for Hextor in private when she knew it wouldn’t cause her small family harm. It was no wonder her son had placed his faith in the forest god’s hands.

“A good idea. Hopefully this will be solved quickly, and without suffering.” He let Tatha draw him into a hug, patting her gently on the back before bracing himself to head back into the apartment. The pendant settled against his chest, an odd weight he wasn’t used to.

* * *

Together, and with a heavy silence between them the group headed once more into the forest. None of them spoke to one another, choosing instead to simply follow Beiric as he led them deeper and deeper into the wilderness. The woods grew wilder around them, the trees larger and more foreboding but there was no sign of the dire wolf they had seen only yesterday, nor the shrine which Beiric’s mother had suggested he go to. 

Now that he was back in the woods he felt like ‘Birchfoot’ once again, but even that slim comfort wasn’t enough to keep him from realizing that they were once again, lost. He knew that the deep and old woods were where they needed to be. He knew too that the shine to the three goddesses would be hard to find, especially since he wasn’t one of their number. But somehow he had thought that… something would have called out to them. A childish hope.

Still sizzling from the insults she had suffered last night from both Beiric and Razan, Somer had not said a word to anyone that morning or through the past two hours or so of trodding through the woods. This, however, had kept her eyes and ears open to the her surroundings. It all mostly looked the same to her unfortunately, as she was not versed in traveling through wooded areas. She liked roads, if she had a choice. As she gazed about boredly, a glimpse of movement caught her eye. Wary, Somer kept an eye on the area as they continued their march, and after a few moments, there was another movement. Squinting at first to try and understand what was before her, Somer’s eyes then widened broadly. There, behind a large tree, was the figure of an elf woman. She was so beautiful Somer could not help but be entranced and agape. The elf was as still as night, and seemed to watch them very closely. 

“Everyone, do not stop walking, but…” Somer whispered as quietly as she could, but hopefully just loud enough, “but there is a _elf woman_ staring at us from the east, behind a large tree. Don’t look, just trust me.”

“An elf?” Razen looked startled at the suggestion, looking around furiously for the person in question. He caught sight of the woman and immediately armed himself with his spiked chain. “Who goes there?” 

His question went unanswered however, the elvish woman remaining behind her tree as though it would protect her from their investigation. Birchfoot spotted the woman as well, as soon as Somer opened her mouth. He had been hoping to come closer to her before giving away that she had been spotted, but the half-orc’s booming voice shattered that hope. He winced, glancing at the half hidden elf to see if she was going to attack them or not. When she failed to even shift her position he sighed with relief. 

Faustus didn’t even look back to check, considering her height and the fact she was walking in the middle of the group she highly doubt she could see the elf anyway. She just nodded in acknowledgment and continue moving, whistling a little to her dogs circling around the group.

Birchfoot held his hands away from his bow, showing that he wasn’t ready to attack before calling out in his rarely used elvish to the woman. “{We mean no harm, who are you?}” 

It took a long moment for the woman to realize that it was her that Birchfoot was addressing, but with a quick look around the group she offered him a small smile and motioned for him to come closer. “{You are lost yes?}” Her own elvish was lyrical and spoken with the tongue of one who had likely never spoken another language. “{My Ladies led me here to take you to our sacred glade.}”

Birchfoot breathed a sigh of relief and gave her a weak but heartfelt smile. “{We have been looking for Their glade for longer than I like to admit. You have my thanks.}” He glanced back at the three people behind him and tipped his head towards the elf. 

“She’s taking us where we need to go.” Without explaining further he started off towards the east where the woman stood.

“Wait!” Razen grabbed Birchfoot by the shoulder, staring at the elf beyond Bieric untrustingly. “You’re just going to trust her?”

“Yes.” Birchfoot stared directly back at Razen. 

“But… She’s an _elf_.”

“Yes. You may have noticed my large floppy ears, Razen. As though I share blood with another race of long eared people. I wonder who those people might be. Can you make a guess as to that race, Razen the orc-blooded?” Birchfoot’s uncharacteristically sharp tongue cut quickly, gold eyes narrowed and waiting for the taller man’s rebuttal.

Raising her brows at Birchfoot, Somer cut in, even chillier than anyone had ever heard her. “And where is it that we need to go? To the dire wolf’s lair? I admit, I too am wary of trusting her.”

Razen nodded firmly in agreement finally with the cleric. “The elves of this forest are tricky folk. They lead the unwary into traps.”

“That’s _not_ what _I_ meant.” Somer stated.

Birchfoot’s lips flattened into an irritated line before he glanced at Somer. “We are going to a shrine to the Triple Goddesses of the Moons. They may be all the help we are going to receive.” He looked to the elven woman for some form of support, only realizing by her expression of curiosity that she didn’t understand a word that they were speaking. 

“My mother is from these woods, and she told me to beg for their blessing. It was the best idea out of all of ours. Though perhaps she is just as tricky as you say, Razen.” He raised his brows at him. “What do you think? She was probably just trying to kill us all, being a sneaky lying elf and all.” Birchfoot’s tone was so thick with condescension that it could almost be cut with a knife.

Razen blinked at the commentary, uncertain suddenly how to respond. “I just meant… that we shouldn’t trust strange elves in the forest… Not your mother… If she sent you here then fine.” He turned half away, uncomfortable and waved a hand. The tall man muttered to himself under his breath, rubbing a hand over his own ear. “Floppy ears?”

With something almost bordering on sympathy Birchfoot patted Razen on the back before moving past him towards the elven woman. “Don’t worry, yours are only a little _floppy_.” 

As Birchfoot spoke quietly with the elven woman Faustus wanted to roll her eyes at the whole group, and more than once she missed her Ma and Pa. They would have just quickly discern whether the elf woman was tricking them, put in some countermeasure and moved the hell on. 

“{I hope you two are paying more attention than I am. This is really boring.}” She spoke to her two dogs quietly in the druidic tongue. 

After a moment the elvish woman led the small group into the woods further, moving with the grace of one long used to lands such as these. They were not far from the glade where the trees opened up into a small clearing which held a pool of reflective water and a tall standing stone with a circle carved out of its center. The woman knelt before the pool, bidding the group to join her if they wished with a small wave of her hand.

Pulling his mother’s necklace out from under his clothing Birchfoot came over and joined her, for a moment looking apprehensive. These weren’t his gods, and while he didn’t scorn them he had never thought too deeply on them except when he was younger, watching his mother give worship in her quiet way. Settling down on his knees he frowned, feeling suddenly foolish but still hoping that something would happen to save their hides. 

Somer and Razen watched from afar, still wary of the woman and her motives. The cleric did have some knowledge of the Moon Goddesses, and thought perhaps a bit of guidance was in order. Though, what that guidance would lead to, she was unsure. “The pool is likely magicked in some way by the moonlight that struck it the night previous… offerings of silver are quite common with the Three, so if you have something silver, like a ring, you may offer it for their guidance.” 

The idea of magic in the water made Razen’s skin crawl, but the elvish woman seemed unbothered by their suspicion, smiling at Birchfoot reassuringly. “{Place the crystal in the water and I will pray for their blessings upon you.}”

With some hesitation Birchfoot undid the clasp of the pendant, holding it in his hands for a long moment before dipping it into the pool. He felt tense, not because of the elven woman beside him, but for reasons he couldn’t pin down. But all he could do at this point was wait and send a fleeting prayer to Obad-Hai as well as the Goddesses of the Moons. As the crystal dipped into the still water a white glow emanated from it, causing the water to shimmer with pure light. Beside him the elvish woman prayed to her Goddesses quietly and a odd feeling of serenity filled the clearing.

Birchfoot raised the pendant back up so that he could look over his mother’s necklace. Nothing had changed, and yet everything about it seemed different. It had gone from a simple yet pleasantly cut crystal, to that same crystal but with an aura of peace surrounding it. He let out the breath he had been holding, then looked over at the praying elf before meeting his companion’s gazes. 

Slowly, Somer stood straight from her previous position against the tree, as she felt the same wave of peace emanate from the pendant. She was familiar with the blessing, and it was certainly a good thing that had happened to Birchfoot. “Very nice.” she whispered to herself, the hunter may be the luckiest among them in this coming confrontation.

As Somer’s whisper echoed across the small clearing, carried on the still calm air, there was a rustle in the bushes across the small space. The innocuous noise drew the attention of everyone in the clearing but the elvish woman still kneeling by the pool. She alone continued to gaze peacefully at the pond as a surprisingly short but stocky… man stumbled through the underbrush. Leaves and sticks stuck to his clothes, and an entire branch was clinging to his horn as if trying to hold him back in the forest. 

He was clearly dragonkin, a race not well represented in Greydor, but not entirely unheard of and it was patently clear that this one was far from home. The dragonkin is wearing a blue shirt, peeking out from underneath a leather vest. A wide leather belt and leather breeches flowed down to his leather boots. There was a wool hood that hung around his neck, attached to the cloak that hung between his huge silver scaled wings. As he entered the clearing, he let out a curse; twisted his head to get the branch unstuck from his horns, and turned around to pick up his kasa which had fallen into the brush behind him. He settled the hat back on his head and turned around, looking back to the book he had been reading while walking… He might have returned to reading his book but it was at that moment that he saw the group standing there. “Oh… hello.”

The brief movement made by the dragonkin was enough to have Razen grabbing for his weapon, sure that this newcomer meant to attack him… only to realize that there was merely a hat and a book in hand. 

Faustus couldn’t help giggling behind the larger man at Razen’s reaction, almost doubling over. She looked over at the Dragonkin with a happy wave. “Hiya! You’re lost?” Because so far Birchfoot had gotten them lost twice despite coming from these woods. 

Behind Faustus, Somer raised a brow at what emerged, she believed she could no longer be surprised on this farce of a job. She stood rigid once more, and squinted her eyes in suspicion, and thought with exasperation, ‘ _a dragonkin, here? By the gods…_ ’

Birchfoot remained where he was, kneeling on the ground before the pond. Though the look of curiosity over the necklace had warped to exasperation at the appearance of the dragonkin. He wrapped his fingers around the crystal pendant to hide it from view before standing, eyeing the stranger. All he could do was wait to see what the book-wielding lizard did.

The dragonkin straightened his neck and tilted his head slightly to the left side. “Lost?” He ponders for a moment. “That would depend. Where is here?” He slowly looked around to each of the people in the clearing, and his eyes settled on the elven maiden. An awkward silence fell across the group as the dragonkin’s gaze fell to the elven woman, who obviously did not speak common. The silence lengthened without answer so Somer stepped forward with a graceful movement of her cloak, her eyes cold and passive upon the odd newcomer.

“This is a sacred place of the Three Goddesses. Do you have business with any place like that? If not, I’d say you are indeed lost.”

The half dragon took a step back upon hearing that he was standing on ‘holy ground’. “I did not mean to invade. I’m just looking for my mother and her people.” He turned his attention back to the elven maiden and spoke in Elvish. “{Is there a Yesandra Thorin among your people?}”

Though she had been silent while the others spoke amongst themselves, when she was finally addressed in her native tongue the elvish woman smiled kindly at the dragonkin and rose to her feet with a twinkling laugh. “{I would not know. I am alone here to tend the glade of my Ladies.}”

While the dragonkin and the elvish woman spoke together Razen stepped forward to stand beside Somer. Not much love was lost between them, but he had some small hope that the cleric might see things as he did eventually. The large man lowered his voice, his green eyes remaining on the stranger. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

Faustus rolled her eyes and moved closer to the tall orc. Easily she climbed onto his shoulders, grabbing at the clothes and belt for her ascent. “Don’t over think this.” She sat on his shoulders without another word, while her two dogs looked nervously on behind.

Razen snorted, shaking his head. “Get _off_.”

“No.” She said and just sank her body weight comfortably on top of him. 

Somer watched quietly from the corner of her eye as Faustus scaled Razen, much to his dismay, and then subsequently refused to remove herself from him. A small smirk cross her lips, quietly pleased with the dwarf. The expression quickly faded into her usual chilly gaze, and she monotoned boredly in response to Razen’s statement. “It _could_ have been a coincidence. He doesn’t seem to be too… focused. Or a listener.” 

Meradin nodded to the elven maid, and thanked her for her response before looking over to the comedic scene unfolding in the clearing. “What can be a coincidence?” He asked, closing the book in his hands, and using a bookmark without even looking down to the object.

Without so much as a twitch, Somer’s gaze swiveled to Meradin. “That you would interrupt this ceremony at such an opportune moment. But it seems you may just have business here afterall,” her eyes fell to the elven woman he had been addressing.

“No business with the priestess. Just trying to find my mother’s people, as I said earlier. As for your business here. I was unaware of it.” He fumbled the book into his pack, leaving his hands free but for the quarterstaff that was leaning against him as he picked up his hat.

For a long moment Razen stared at the dragonkin suspiciously, but in the end he strode over to the much shorter man and stuck out his hand. “We are hunting a beast in these woods, a dire wolf at that!”

“Yay making friends!” She was pleased that the half-orc was not trying to start a fight - again.

Meradin’s eyes brightened a little. “Oooo. A dire wolf. I’ve never seen one of those before. Might be good to get some notes on them.” He extended his hand in greeting back to the other man. “My name’s Meradin.”

“Razen Diharth.” The half-orc grinned toothily, flashing his large canines at the half-dragon. “You should join us then in the honorable hunt.”

“More bodies would mean more chances of defeating it.” Birchfoot finally spoke up, having watched the spectacle in front of him silently before deciding on if it was even worth voicing his opinions. The pendant was back around his neck, once again tucked under his shirt. “But it would be good to know if you can fight before you join us, if that’s your desire.” He raised a brow at Meradin.

Meradin tilted his head to the left slightly again, regarding Razen for a few moments. “If you would like the company, I’m more than willing to accompany you. As for my ability to fight. I’m not the best with blades, but have other abilities that may come in handy in a fight.”

“What if not a blade? A bow? Birchfoot is fine with one himself!” Razen praised the half elf, grinning a bit at the other man as though they were on more friendly terms than they had been up until now. “Or perhaps… a club?” His green eyes were on Meradin’s weapons, one of which was in fact a sword. 

Meradin’s eyes wandered back to the elven priestess, and he again addressed her in Elven. “{Do your goddesses frown upon the use of magic within their holy sites?}” He waited patiently for an answer; seeming to ignore Razen for the moment.

The elvish woman blinked at suddenly being addressed while Razen frowned at the words he didn’t understand. “{No, but I would ask that you do nothing to harm the pool or its standing stone.}”

“{Of course not!}” He turned back to look at Razen, and began mumbling something in a strange language, and waving his hands around in well-practiced motions. Razen’s jaw dropped, stepping away from the dragonkin as he spoke oddly. As he finished his strange movements a horse, complete with bit, bridle, and saddle walked out of the woods to stand next to the dragonkin. He hefted himself up into the saddle with a fluid motion and smiled. “Where are we going?”

A low orcish curse slipped his lips, and Razen moved even further away from the magical beast. Somer bopped Razen’s head gently with her quarterstaff, her gaze not leaving the flashy dragonkin.

“Be still it’s…” Somer’s words had only just begun, but her actions were the last straw on Razen’s delicate temper. The half-orc grabbed the dwarf sitting on his shoulders, and threw her bodily at the cleric, the impact slamming the two of them into one another head-first. Somehow the dwarf managed to land on her feet, but the impact had a harsh concussive force behind it.

“Stop it!” Birchfoot snapped at the three of them, walking closer to the irate half-orc and shaking his head at the two battered women. “We have a beast to kill, what point is there of half killing each other first?” He stopped outside of the range Razen’s reach, though the sour look he shot at Somer was almost as withering as the one aimed at Razen. 

Faustus sighed and rubbed her head, her head felt horrible and she was exhausted before the fight. Not a good sign. Softly she muttered in druidic and let a small green mist wash over her back where it hurt the most, because it had collided with a face. It meant one less heal for the others but at this point she kinda wished they would die so she could eat them. She choose not to say it out loud at least.

“Why do you have to provoke him?” She asked the cleric sounding rather tired. At least she was back on ground and ready to run when the two started fighting - _again_. 

Slowly and with much shaking, the cleric who had been doubled over in agony after having a dwarf collide with her entire front; lifted her gaze towards Faustus. An indignant, furious smile was carved into her face.

“Why do I… _I have to provoke him_?” She uttered, barely able to contain her rage, “He is insane!” With a seething sound Somer righted herself, leaning against her quarterstaff. She turned back to the raging half-orc, fearing what may come next though her pain-twisted visage did not betray it.

Razen rubbed his head as he huffed, his breathing heavier than it had been a moment ago. It was clear by the red light in his eyes that he had slipped into the edge of his barbaric rage, control just outside his easy reach. “You hit me first!” The words were growled, almost slurred around the edges and his fist clenching and unclenching around his weapon.

Still leaning against her quarterstaff, the much smaller form of Somer shuddered at the raging aura. She knew the situation had turned very serious. She needed to act, and quickly, because she had somehow made this. Somer appealed to the half-orc in what sounded to be the most sincere they had ever heard her. “I did, but… it was not out of malice, Razen. I did it in an…” Somer felt almost nauseous as she realized that it was true, “... _endearing_ way. I was going to explain that there was nothing to fear of the horse.”

Uncertainty the large man rubbed his head again. In truth it had not hurt him in the least but he’d never had someone hit him… _playfully_. “You… did not want to fight me now?”

Meradin, half in shock shook himself from the stillness that had fallen over him when the sudden aggression had ensued and looked at Razen. “Oh, I’ve read about this, she must be doing it to flir….” He stopped himself short of finishing the sentence, realizing that he might be wrong.

Suddenly the barbarian flushed, his cheeks molting as he looked at Somer in a new light. The rage seeped out of him and he dropped his hand to his side, even going so far as to release his weapon. Faustus laughed louder in the background, actually on the ground rolling a bit. Meradin wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t uncommon in orcish society for females or males to initiate mating with aggression.

“Oh… um…” Razen offered the cleric a odd lopsided grin. “Thank you?”

Birchfoot’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher until they were almost vanishing into his hairline. He couldn’t help himself. The half-elf looked over at Somer and grinned just a little. “That is one way to stop a rampaging orc. Good job, cleric.”

Somer’s white hot rage boiled over and flooded through her entire body, and a newfound strength helped her to stand stock straight once more. Her gaze was wildly mad, and a horrible grin crossed her lips. “I am not an orc, I do not know these customs, and I would never, ever flirt with you, Razen. I am _truly sorry_. It was platonic.”

Razen tilted his head for a moment and shook it. “It’s okay… my people don’t hit one another much but for fighting or…” He flushed again and shook his head harder. “Anyway um…” He looked at the horse that had been summoned and tentatively poked its nearest flank. “This will make good bait for the wolf yes?”

Meradin finally snapped out of his agape stuper. “Bait!?” A look of horror and terror spread across his draconic features.

“He’s joking.” Faustus lied from behind the orc, catching her breath. She fully expected him to use others as bait. All she could do was to anticipate when and just run and hide when that happened.

While the group discussed the matter, the elvish priestess casually tugged on Birchfoot’s sleeve, trying to draw his attention politely. Birchfoot immediately looked over at her, turning away from the chaos of his dubiously built party. “{Yes?}”

“{I can… if you will allow, heal the injured?}” She seemed uncertain about how acceptable her offer might be.

“{I’m sure they would prefer to be healed than to walk into the maw of the beast injured.}” He looked over at the idiots that continued to squabble, raising his voice to be heard. “The priestess will heal the two of you, if you would like to stop this idiocy for a few moments.” 

Somer silently trudged to the elf, bowing in embarrassed thanks.

“Yes please!” Faustus added, trotting over behind the cleric. 

The cleric was more than happy to lay her hands over the injuries, causing them to knit back together in a matter of a few moments. Kindly she patted each of the women on the hand before releasing them, but before she released Somer, she motioned for the other cleric to join her at the pool. “{Please, take some of the water with you, for your health.}”

Realizing that nobody had seemed to understand him when he was speaking to the elven priestess and what this might mean with the woman addressing Somer now, Meradin spoke up. “She’s offering to let you take some of the waters from the pool… I assume there is some significance to that? She says it is for your health?”

The cleric, completely taken aback at the offering after such disgraceful behavior, did a double take back and forth from the priestess and Meradin. “I…” She bowed her head in thanks, but also a bit in shame at the fact she really did not have a good offering for the priestess, other than some silver coin. Somer reached into her pack and gently dropped five silver into the pool. “Thank you.” She dipped a small flask she also pulled from her pack, and filled it with the holy water.

A few minutes later had the group quietly leaving the glade, some of them uncomfortably aware of their behavior while in the sacred space and others simply uncertain. Wordlessly the dragonkin joined them, the last to disappear from the sight of the elvish cleric who had so kindly tended to their injuries and even now the blessing of her Ladies hovered near to the group offering a peace that lent to their silence.


	3. Razen our Drama Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last_sorceress (aka Elm): Razan Diharth [ Barbarian ] (Elm is also our DM)  
> HeraldsEnjoin : Beiric “Birchfoot” Tatharion [ Ranger ]  
> Nervosa : Somer Ambrose [ Cleric ]  
> Maruna : Faustus Atethemall [ Druid ]  
> WhiteTigger: Meradin Thorin [ Wizard ]
> 
> Note: Faustus is technically a cannibal and it is joked about/discussed lightly. (Though she only cannibalizes the already-dead.) Considering this is a part of her backstory it's likely to come up again so if it's something that bothers you - take care.

Here in the deep woods the trees grew large enough that Razen would have needed four of himself to reach around them with his arms. Their height disappeared into a dense canopy that blocked out all but the most stubborn points of light which left the whole of the forest in a sort of odd half light and reminded the group that should nightfall they would be lost in darkness. No moon or starlight would reach them beneath these boughs. Some of these giants took on strange form, bending in ways that did not seem entirely natural, one even bent over entirely so that it made a hill of itself rather than reaching for the sky as a tree should. 

Birchfoot could easily make out a few pawprints left behind by the dire wolf in the soft moss and earth, but the tracks made little sense, often disappearing and reappearing where they should not. Of the beast itself there was no sign. The closer he got to the giant tree, the clearer it it was that because of the way it had grown that a cave of sorts had formed. 

As he approached he could make out something in the gloom, until the glint of golden eyes snapped into focus and he came to an abrupt stop. “There is something here.” He warned, turning his head slightly to let his voice carry to his companions while keeping his eyes on whatever was skulking in the darkness. 

A low, bass growl rumbled out of the cave in response to Birchfoot’s warning, the sound clear in the near-silence of the woods.

As attention of the group was called to the oddly growing tree, and a low growl emanated from said location, Meradin let out a long whistle. “That is a big wolf!” 

Razen rolled his eyes at the dragonkin. “It is a dire wolf.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Birchfoot held his hands apart to show he wasn’t holding his bow, his voice low and even as he tried to speak to the beast. “We do not wish to harm you if you mean us no harm.” The growling sound that the dire wolf made in response chilled him to his bones. There was no move to attack him but it seemed clear that diplomacy was not going to succeed. He scooted away, moving closer to the cleric and Razen and away from the possibility of teeth and claws snapping at him. 

Hearing the bone chilling growl, Meradin began waving his hands and chanting in the arcane language; a brief glow enveloped his body for a moment before fading into a faint shimmer that lingered close to his bright scales. Behind him Faustus was glad she was at the far back of the party, far away from the massive wolf. She tried to change forms in case the creature decided to attack, however walking and transforming was too difficult, and she could not concentrate enough to shift. 

Her hand glowed with green energy that took the shape of a ball, she bounced it on the grass, trying to entice the wolf to come out and play. Unfortunately the dire wolf seemed entirely uninterested in it, and it remained where it was hidden away, growling low at them.

Steeling herself as the terrifying growl emanated from the cave, Somer knew the edge of life and death approached and she had to act. Quietly praying to Boccob, a faint light emanated from each member of the party, and a haunting sigh sounded as the blessing took hold of them. Strength and a small bit of calm coursed through them.

Unaffected by the were-druid’s efforts to calm it the dire wolf stepped out of its hiding place and bared its teeth at the party, letting loose another even more terrifying growl than it had before. Its golden eyes flashed in the dim light with a promise of violence if the party did not leave its territory immediately. The effect was immediate, causing everyone but Faustus to turn and flee from the dire wolf in panic.

The growl is unlike anything Meradin had ever heard before in his life. He turned the horse to the side and spurred it into action, galloping away from the giant wolf. Enmass the group followed the dragonkin, though only Razen was fast enough to keep up somewhat with Meradin’s horse. Faustus watched all the ‘adults’ run past her in a hurry. She stared at them with confusion, before following behind. Running as fast as she could with her short legs hindering her speed. Her two dogs kept up with the group better. The group made it quite far before the pounding of their hearts stilled enough for them to regain some semblance of control and slow down.

Somer’s breath was still ragged as she trudged to a nearby tree and rested against it with both her arms. She pounded a fist against the bark, and growled, “What a waste!”

With his hands on his knees Birchfoot barked out a shaking laugh and shuddered, forcing his hands to stop shaking before he stood straight again. “At the very least it did not decide to simply eat us.” 

The words made Razen lift his head, jaw twitching unhappily. Of everyone he was perhaps the most embarrassed by the fact that he had fled, reattaching the spiked chain he used as a weapon to his belt so that he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. “I would rather it had.”

As he regained control of his own self, Meradin turned his scared horse back around and was glad he hadn’t gotten too far away from the others. He trotted the horse back to the group. “What exactly are we supposed to do with that wolf? Report back where it is?” He knew better, but he sounded hopeful.

“And have them tell us we need to go back and deal with it? And potentially run around in circles again?” Faustus couldn’t forget all the time they had spent wandering in the woods already.

Looking at his raggedly-run companions Birchfoot could only sigh. “I don’t want to kill it.” He frowned and looked back the way they had come, crossing his arms and waiting to see if anything was following them. The soft silence of the forest spoke louder than his words.

Angrily Razen picked up a rock and crushed the stone with his bare hand, tiny pieces of it crumbling to the soft ground. “I did not see you _talking_ to it!”

“Perhaps you’d like to come with me back into it’s lair and make the attempt in my stead, Razen?” Birchfoot cocked his brow at the furious warrior.

Bits of rock were flung to the ground as the half orc opened his hand and freed himself of them. “You were the one that thought to talk to it not I.”

Meradin slid off the back of his horse and moved to stand between the two men who were both taller than him. Holding up clawed hands, he tried to stop the two from moving at each other. “Before we start taking this out on each other, what do we know of this kind of beast?”

“Smarter, faster, and far more dangerous than an ordinary wolf, dire wolves are apex predators.” Ignoring Razen’s attempts to draw him into another fruitless argument Birchfoot moved away from the half-orc and directed his words at Meradin and the group at large. He sat on a mostly intact fallen tree, pushing his hair away from his face and trying to dredge up any lore he may have forgotten. “They’re smart, smarter than plenty of men, and half-men I have known. And there are stories that they are… shape shifters. Lycanthropes much like the child.” He gestured at Faustus. “It could be an elf trying to keep the people in the village from getting too deep into the woods that don’t belong to them.” He shrugged, looking tired and like he had his own opinion that wasn’t quite making it to words.

Somer had finally regained her chilly demeanor, and was now leaning quietly against the tree she had so cruelly abused. Her eyes darted towards Birchfoot as he explained it could be a shapeshifter. “Have there been incidents besides this farmer’s bull being eaten in this village? Any other livestock being killed off or anything else unusual going on?”

“Nothing too extreme until a were-child began digging up graves.” Birchfoot eyed Faustus - who just shrugged, feeling that eating the dead was better than burying them - before meeting Somer’s gaze once more. “It’s been a hard winter, and animals often come seeking easy meals in town when they can’t hunt for themselves any longer. But I haven’t heard of anything that seemed… unnatural.”

The dragonkin pondered and nodded as he listened to the descriptions of the giant animal they were after, and then the explanation of why. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head to the left, looking at Birchfoot. “But the dire wolf tracks were definitely found around the dead bull, right? Those tracks should be easily identified from a normal wolves; they would be a magnitude larger.”

There was a moment of silence to think about what the torn up snow and ruined field had looked like, but when he answered it was with confidence. “No. They sent us after a pack of wolves. It wasn’t until those had been dispatched that we ran into the dire wolf.” He hesitated before continuing. “Which didn’t attack up then, either. If the town militia hadn’t ordered it I would have left the creature be. I still don’t think it means us ill.”

“We all could have been spared this.” Razen glared at Birchfoot. “If you did not care so much for your stupid rules.”

“They’re not ‘my rules’ Razen.” Birchfoot rolled his eyes. “They are rules I follow because I have little choice in the matter. It’s the way of Greydor.” 

Razen growled, disliking the truth. He couldn’t argue with Birchfoot having seen it with his own eyes. Beside him, Faustus wondered to herself if this a good time to swear and curse this land. And the conclusion was… “Fuck Hextor, he is a bastard.” Worse than any undead in Samantra.

The half-orc barked out a laugh that sounded surprisingly good coming from him and patted the girl hard on the back. “Indeed!”

Glancing up at the slivers of sky that he could see through the trees, Birchfoot stood and brushed the debris off of his clothing before looking at his companions. “We should find somewhere to rest for the night. It’s getting cold, and the little one doesn’t seem to have anything but the clothes on her back.” 

The low rumble of Razen’s laughter faded and he half-frowned at Birchfoots suggestion. “We only found the beast and now you want to turn back?”

“Hey.” Meradin interjected. “At least we know where it lives now. We can come back anytime we want.” He smiled to punctuate his words. Birchfoot tipped his head to acknowledge his agreement.

Razen glanced toward Faustus uncomfortably and finally shrugged. “I suppose, but I do not want to go too far. I do not want to get lost again.” Faustus giggled at his side, then sneezed loudly. The cold was starting to get to her. The young druid had not thought to get winter gear or consider much what the weather might be like in these places. At least she could change - and that was exactly what she chose to do - stretching as her muscles shifted and her bones cracked into new forms that left her whole body covered in spotted fur.

Birchfoot looked over at Somer, the only one to remain silent. “Unless you have a reason to have us stay, we should start moving shortly. The longer we have light to see by the better it will be for you to make camp.”

The cleric had kept her thoughts to herself, but she had agreed from the beginning that they should leave for now. They needed a plan. From the show of cowardice the group had shown at the mere _sound_ of the thing, and she hoped it may save their lives. “No, I agree we should rest for now. Let us hope the forest does not take us before the wolf.”

It took a few hours to find a suitable location to sleep for the night, but Birchfoot found a place where there were a few large rocks to offer them a bit of shelter from the chill of the night. With all of their tents set up it was quite cozy, particularly once they had a small fire going. Faustus curled up next to the fire with her dogs, after she set up strings and bells alarm, but Meradin offered her his tent since he hardly needed one and after she shifted back to her human form she accepted it. Vigilantly the group set up watches on the off chance that some wild animal stumbled on their camp site, and Somer had the first of them.

As everyone slipped off to sleep the cleric warmed herself by the fire, rubbing her hands to keep them warm and keeping her distance from Razen’s tent. As she settled in there was an odd weight settling in her stomach which she realized just as quickly was not merely her imagination, a realization punctuated by a sharp pain in her shoulder. The weight tightened around the cleric, cutting short her ability to breathe and making her bones whine in protest even as the constrictor’s teeth dug more sharply into her body.

White-hot panic surged through her as the beast’s body wrapped around her with deadly force. Through the pain, her instincts kicked in once again, and she howled as loud as she could. Blood thundered in her ears, fuling her to muster all of her strength to tear herself free of the constrictor. Muscles screaming she wrenched out of its grasp with so much force her body flew with the inertia and she slammed to the ground. Somer’s face twisted in both fear and rage, as she scrambled to her feet to create some distance between her and the snake. She tried to keep her eyes on it, but she was so heavily injured her vision was blackening and she feared she would pass out at any moment. Fingers turning white she clutched her punctured, bleeding shoulder; her lips whispering a prayer to Boccob for a healing spell which began to quickly mend the wound.

Meradin only half woke to the sound of Somer’s scream, and lazily looked up from his slumber to see the scene unfolding. His eyes widened as realization dawned on him as to what was happening; and he let out a draconic roar to try and get the snake’s attention. Immediately he followed the roar up with a few deft and practiced motions of his fingers chanting words which caused his hands to begin sparkling with frost. 

He struck outward at the snake, clawing at the coils that were just evacuated by Somer; cutting deep into the snake with his claws. The creature's flesh turned hard, scales freezing over as the spell he’d cast sank into its body and began to stiffen its naturally lithe body.

With the scream of pain from Somer and then the quickly followed roar from Meradin, Birchfoot woke with a panicked sound of his own; grabbing his mace and rolling out of the tent ready to swing at the cause for alarm. The constrictor turned sharply toward this new threat and tumbled into the fire in a mess of coils. Immediately the flames caught hold and what little life the snake had left was consumed in a matter of moments.

All of the noise had managed to rouse Faustus and Razen of course, although the girl was instantly tangled up with all her dogs that were lying on top of her. The unfamiliar tent only added to her trouble and she was the last to make Somer’s aid. Though she was first to salivate at the roasting snake. “What was that all that about?”

Slipping his mace into it’s home on his belt, Birchfoot walked the last few steps to Somer and led her to sit closer to the fire. With careful fingers he pulled away the rent fabric on her shoulder to look at the wound. “Not poisoned, at least.” 

Meradin stood up more properly from his awkward position half on the ground and moved closer to the corpse of the snake, pulling his sword from his sheath as he walked. He sliced off a section of the snake’s body and tossed it at Razen. “That was the dinner call.” He looked over at Somer, about to say something, but his eyes went wide. 

“Oh my god. She looks like she’s about to die! Look how pale her skin is! Can we get someone to heal her?” Frantically his golden eyes flashing from one person to the next for answers.

“You want me to go out look for berries?” Faustus asked, far calmer than the dragon kin as she chewed on the toasted bits of snake. 

Though Somer absolutely felt like she was dying; her body still screaming in fright and pain, she didn’t quite think she was at that point anymore. The cleric stood hunched over and shaking, and glared at Meradin’s comment about her paleness. “Yes, and you are all the ones killing me slowly! Don’t just stand there gawking and pointing out my suffering!” She growled, and then flicked her searing glare at Faustus casual suggestion as well as her munching on the body of the creature that nearly just took her life, “No, but _thank you_ Faustus…”

Birchfoot rolled his eyes and ducked back inside his tent before returning with his waterskin. “You survived, and you’ll continue to survive. We just need to clean and bandage this for now.” He rinsed the snake bite as carefully as possible before leaning back and making a face. “Does anyone have anything they wouldn’t mind losing to bandages?” 

Razen paused, a piece of snake in his hand. He’d forgone dinner earlier and the snake seemed well cooked now. With a little flick of his hand he pulled the bear skin on his shoulders off and threw it at Somer without actually looking at her. Birchfoot snagged it before it could clobber the both of them, and draped it over the cleric’s shoulders. Hopefully the warmth would keep her from going into shock too deeply. 

Somer’s head swiveled then to Birchfoot, now pointing her ire at him. “Birchie…” She whispered warningly, “Do you see my hand here?” Making sure they had made eye contact, she cocked her head down to her hand clutching her side, “I think it broke my ribs… do you think a bandage will be enough for that?” Though she looked and sounded quite angry, shock was settling in and her voice was becoming hoarse and quiet.

“Razen she is not as sturdy as you,” Faustus commented between bites. Tearing small chunks of it off for her dogs who were both circling around her for a piece.

“That is why I gave her the fur.” 

Birchfoot ignored the egregious use of a nickname he didn’t care for to pull back the edge of the bearskin cloak so that he could move her hand aside and test the side she had been touching. “You can’t knit the bones back together?” His fingers were surprisingly gentle considering his blasé expression. When she didn’t scream in agony at the pressure he added a little more, continuing to push until she reacted strongly. “... They aren’t broken.” He sat back on his heels and breathed out a sigh. “Badly bruised, but not broken. You’ll be black and blue tomorrow.”

Somer’s expression finally softened to an exhausted relief, and she too sighed, “Oh, thank Boccob… because I certainly could not knit bone. That is… beyond my abilities.”

The dragon-kin lifted up the bottom of his cloak and ripped the bottom two inches off, then handed the strip to Birchfoot. “Will this do for a bandage?” With a word of thanks Birchfoot took the cloth from Meradin and after a grimace at the grime on it he patted Somer’s fur-wrapped knee before heading into her tent. 

When he came back with her small cooking pot he snagged Razen’s waterskin in passing, pouring out enough to fill the pot and settling it within the remains of their fire. “We need more firewood and Somer should go into her tent to stay warm.” Somer, tired of watching the others haphazardly ‘take care’ of her and eat at the same time, obliged and crawled into her tent without another word.

With Somer out of danger Meradin claimed some of the snake for himself. “All things considered, I should probably take over first watch. I’ll wake Razen for second watch.”

With one last bite of snake the half-orc licked his fingers and nodded. “I’ll get the firewood.” He didn’t bother to see if anyone was going to come with him, simply grabbing his weapon of choice and heading out of their little campsite. A moment later there was a sudden ringing and a small thud as Razen got tangled in Faustus’ alarm. Faustus almost choked on her piece from laughing. 

She did however go towards him to help him get untangled from the alarm. It took a few moments and a few orcish curses but they managed to get the bells untangled from around Razen’s legs so that he could go hunting for wood, and the werehyena went along with him - just to be sure that he didn’t get into any more trouble.

* * *

As the morning dawned and everyone began to slowly emerge from their tents, borrowed or otherwise, and snake steaks were beginning to be passed around for breakfast it was Meradin as he closed his spellbooks from his morning studies who realized that Razen had as of yet, not risen from his tent. The silver-scaled dragonkin rose from his studies, stashing all of his books back into his pack and wandered to Razen’s tent to try and rouse the half-orc from his slumber. Cautiously he tapped on the door of the hide tent, then even more cautiously pulled the tent flap open only to find that Razen was not inside. In fact the back of Razen’s tent had been torn to shreds and there was no sign of the half-orc.

There was a few moments of stark silence, as Meradin stared at the tattered tent-back. “Um…” He paused then raised his voice a bit to be heard by the whole camp. “I think we might have a problem.”

The cleric had been ravenously eating her share of the cursed snake, but immediately tensed at the tone of the dragonkin’s voice. Wary, especially after her ordeal; she rose and approached Meradin glancing inside the tent from behind him. Her eyes widened at the shreds of the tent gently, but ominously, swaying in the wind. “By the gods… I may not like him, but…” Her eyes met with Meradin’s with great seriousness, “I think that great misfortune has befallen our young warrior.”

Faustus peeked around the others, wondering what had happened. “Wat ‘appen to Razzy?” Her mouthful of snake muffled her words.

Birchfoot had been busy breaking down his tent and clearing their firepit away when he heard the worried tone of Somer and Meradin. With his backpack in hand he joined the other three, his brow furrowing when he saw the wreckage of Razen’s tent. The tent was mussed, but only in a way that suggested Razen wasn’t the neatest at housekeeping. His weapon remained, as well as the majority of his winter clothing. “He must have been only just preparing to sleep.” With a frown Birchfoot stepped to the back of the tent, looking at the single groove in the ground that led away from the camp and back towards the path they had taken away from the dire wolf’s den.

Meradin wandered around the back of the tent while Birchfoot was looking inside. He fingered the edges of the shredded tent and pondered for a bit before speaking up. “Anybody know what made the cuts? Does it look like it was cut with a knife, or shredded with claws?” From within the half-elf could only shrug in response.

Faustus swallowed the pieces and move forward to look at the cuts herself. It was easy for her to see those cuts were by claws, she tore off a little bit for her dogs to sniff and potentially track. The druid ducked back outside, looking around the dirt where she easily identified huge wolf prints; much bigger than normal wolf. And a distinct tract of something being dragged away. 

“Razzy sure was a deep sleeper if he didn’t wake from being bumped around like that.” Faustus was mostly talking to herself as she followed the tracks. She stopped only at the edge of the clearing, not yet ready to go all the way out yet. 

Meradin took one of his claws and cut a small sliver of the tent, then took his sword and did the same, comparing the two cuts with the shredded edges of the tent, trying to get an idea of how the back of the tent had been violated; completely oblivious to the young druid’s discoveries.

“Those were definitely made by something with claws.” Birchfoot leaned over and pointed out the section that Meradin had sliced with his own fingers and then to the long and ragged lines that had turned the back of Razen’s tent into ribbons. He frowned and then looked down at Faustus, watching the way she was investigating the path left by whatever had taken Razen. “Can you… or your… pets? Track his scent?” 

Faustus looked up, “Yeah I can, and so can Dogmeat. But why though? Razzy was clearly dragged off that way.” She pointed into the bushes, roughly towards where the dire wolf’s den was.

The faint winter breeze rustled around the cleric as she watched the others examine the tent. Somer was not very well versed in tracking, nor was she in the best of shape to be stopping and investigating. Still, as she huddled to herself she realized she was still wrapped in Razen’s bear skin and a pang of guilt and worry stung hot in her chest. Though he was a fool she really did not want to see him meet a horrible end.

Quickly the group broke up camp, eager to get on their way and hopefully find the half-orc, Meridin helpfully carried the absent warriors things while Faustus led them back toward the dire wolf’s den. As they approached the wolf’s clearing, Meradin cast mage armor on himself and Somer, expecting the worst when they arrived. The tracks led them the whole way back, and it wasn’t hard to see the dire wolf once they re-entered the clearing. The beast was half out of the archway made by the tree with its tongue lolling out. There was a splattering of blood on its maw, and a greenish arm caught between its paws as it gazed at them with unfathomable golden eyes.

Somer’s blood chilled in her veins as her eyes fell onto what was unmistakably Razen’s arm under the paw of the dire wolf. Terror threatened to stun her, but she knew she had to act. This thing had let this party of fools live twice, but why? Because this was no beast, no wolf, and no dire wolf.

Eyes flashing wide half with hope, she prayed and cast True Seeing upon herself. Everything around her became clearer, sharper. Before the cleric the dire wolf’s image flickered and changed into a bright, translucent aura beneath which lay the form of an elf. The elf was wearing delicate clothes, its own eyes hard to see with the wolf’s own golden gaze obscuring them. At first she almost thought it was her imagination, but the elf was… smiling at her, and so too was the wolf in its way.

“Clever girl.” A low growling voice echoed from the creature.

Faustus saw the blood and quickly shifted to her hyena form. She did not want to attack which was just as well, since the dire wolf suddenly spoke. “Well look like most of us have the right idea.” On either side of the druid her two dogs growled low and threatening. 

Somer steeled herself and glared back at the elf, her eyes still shining bright, “Yes, Faustus… Birchfoot, your wisdom rings true. This creature before us is an elf.”

Before them the dire wolf licked the hand that was laying between its paws and grinned, flashing its teeth. In spite of this, hearing that the creature was an elf changed everything for Meradin whose whole posture changed. The trepidation that he had been experiencing melted away, and he boldly, or more appropriately - foolishly stepped forward and spoke in Elven. “{Is there a Yasandra Thorin among your people?}”

In response the dire wolf flashed its teeth, growling hard and bristling. “Was taking your companion not clear enough? Need I eat you all to keep you out of this forest?” Its words were in the common language, easy enough for everyone to understand and nothing close to an answer to the dragonkin’s question

“Did you kill Razen?” Birchfoot ignored the dragonkin as well and focused on the elf in wolf’s clothing. Focused on the half-sentences, and ignored the cheap intimidation tricks. 

“Where do you think I got his arm from?” The elf licked his chops again for pointed measure. “Do you think he gave it to me?”

“Share the meat then!” Faustus yelled at the creature.

The elf blinked at her, his eyes a little wide looking at the dwarf girl, and whatever he might have said was cut off by a low groan from behind him which he immediately tried to cover with another low growl. “Just leave!”

Faustus laughed. “Razzy, wake up!” The druid raised her voice purposefully, hoping to wake him up, and hoping even more that his hot temper would help him find a way to break something of the wolf’s on the way out. Her words were answered by several muffled noises, and the wolf’s body shifting even as the wolf itself looked more and more concerned about the situation that was clearly getting away from him. 

Meradin spoke again, still in elven. “{You understand it is specifically because of you that they are traipsing through the woods you want them to get out of. And you still haven’t answered my question. I’m looking for my mother. Is she among your people?}”

Razen was completely trapped under the massive weight of the dire wolf, unable to do anything but wiggle feebly while the elf growled again, trying to get this situation back under his control. “Back up or I will eat his arm!”

Somer was not having anymore deaths - or near deaths - and was so focused on the “creature” that had caused them so much torment that she did not realize that Razen was not in as much danger as it would seem. Stubbornly she stamped her foot to take a step forward and demand, “You will not! I may not like him very much, but he does not deserve to be eaten because of this gods-forsakened country’s bloody laws!”

Birchfoot gave a derisive snort, putting a hand on Somer’s shoulder to settle her. “You would have done so by now if you had any intention. He’s more likely to be smothered to death under your hide.” He proved his point by stepping closer. “We don’t want to hurt you. But if you harm our… friend… we will have to at least make the attempt.” He held out his hands to show he wasn’t wielding his bow, just as he had yesterday. “Will you speak with us, and stop blowing hot air our way?”

“Yeah I mean things goes way faster if we just talked. And also-” Somer, who had not calmed very much by Birchfoot’s gesture, zipped her hand down and grabbed Faustus’s snout to stop her from speaking. She had decided a while back that Faustus was not allowed to participate in negotiations any longer.

The dire wolf looked back and forth and finally shook its head, meeting Birchfoot’s eyes solidly. “I may not want to hurt you or your friend. But I will do what I must to protect this forest. Even if it means hurting you.”

Birchfoot met the elf’s eyes with the same level of sincerity. “I am not here to harm the forest. I dedicated myself to Obad-hai for a reason.” After a moment he reached into his clothing and pulled free his mother’s now-blessed necklace to show it to the wolf who wasn’t a wolf. “The wolves that slaughtered the bull upset the balance and showed that they were willing to threaten the village as well. Being sent after you was… an unfortunate side effect of honesty.”

Faustus tried to pull her snout out, but couldn’t. She glared at the cleric, her furious words meant to rile up Razen muffled into obscurity. Meanwhile the elf gave Birchfoot a level stare that made clear his doubt, and was all the heavier for coming from what seemed to be a massive wolf. He offered finally a fanged grin and shook his heavy spiked mane.

“You’ve found your dire wolf then, what do you intend to do about it?” The elf in wolf-shape’s words were punctuated by angry but heavily muffled noises from beneath its heavy form.

Birchfoot stared at the dire wolf as the wheels in his head turned and turned, coming up with nothing that made sense in the situation. When he found himself looping back on the same useless choices he threw up his hands in frustration. “What can be done?” 

They couldn’t - and wouldn’t - fight the elf. They couldn’t trek back into the town with nothing to show for it. He at least couldn’t lie to save his skin. He looked back at the others and then to the elven shape shifter. “I am open to suggestions.”

Meradin thoughtfully pondered out loud. “What would the town guard say if we went back to them and told them that we found the dire wolf... but it was an elf, and after speaking to him we determined there was no threat to the town’s livestock?”

Somer’s eyes darted to Meradin, immediately wary of this. “Yes, but would that not possibly put the elves in danger of retaliation? I would not want that, as I am much more in agreement with them. In fact, I would say that I have never been agreement with any of this nonsense, I just do not want to be executed or imprisoned for disagreeing with their ridiculous ‘laws’…”

Meradin shrugged. “Then why go back at all?”

“Would they assume we fled… or we died? I am inclined to think they would assume the former because they are insufferable cretins. And besides, Birchfoot’s…” Somer’s gaze moved then to Birchfoot, concern flickering in her expression.

“I will not leave my parents.” He frowned. “Not without sending them word. Which… I can not do.” He looked worried at the idea of abandoning them.

The elf shifted his weight, making Razen let out an odd half-yelp. “I could send a magical message if that is your choice.”

Birchfoot looked even more torn with an out offered to him. “I… have to think about this. Could you possibly let our friend up for some air in the meanwhile?” 

“Do you think you can keep him from doing anything foolhardy? He is… not pleased that I dragged him off.” 

The cleric pulled in a suffering sigh, and released with just as much suffering, “I can _attempt_ to calm him with a spell. I foresaw this may be a problem, per my… suspicions.” Somer eyed the elf in wolf’s clothing.

Meradin shifted his weight and let he wings spread by a handful of inches from their 'at rest' position. Coldly he stared at the elf in disguise. "You are an ice-hearted one, aren't you. This man is being asked to abandon his family simply to protect the peace between you and the village, and the best you can offer him is to send a message?" The dragonkin turned sideways to the elf to address Birchfoot directly. "I have never been to your town, and none there knows me. I would be willing to carry a message in person to your family, if we cannot come up with something better to do than ask you to leave your life behind.” He shifted another frosty glance to the elf as he said the last.

While Meradin was berating the elf, Somer knelt down next to Faustus, her hand still gripped tightly around the feral child’s snout. She lifted a finger and wagged it warningly at Faustus. “If you will be good, which I mean _quiet_ , I will let you go. We are not fighting the dire wolf, or doing _anything_ other than sitting quietly and trying not to _die_. Do you understand me?”

Faustus said nothing, just glared and then rolled her eyes. Much like a child’s response to any adult scolding. Instead she just dropped on the dirt and when Somer still held on to her snout her arm was forced downward as well. She was not going to concede to an adult who in her mind didn’t know what they were doing. Doggedly she lay there on the ground with her arms folded; unwilling to respond.

Somer raised an appraising brow at the child, and a smirk curled her lips. “Is that your answer? Very well.” With that the cleric remained crouched, turning away from the pouting dwarf to await Birchfoot’s decision.

Birchfoot was staring at Meradin, fingers nervously drumming. It was the first time he had shown any sort of indecision and weakness around these people and now it made him seem less of a stalwart leader, and more the awkward ranger that had been forced into close proximity with four strangers. “That… would be a very good solution. You were seeking information about your mother, after all.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced on how good of an idea it was. “She may even know something.” 

It was as close to an agreement as he could muster.

Meradin let his backpack slide down from his shoulder where it rested and rummaged in it for a few moments, finally withdrawing a piece of parchment, a pen and some ink. “If you would like to write them something…” He let the thought trail off as he offered the devices to the ranger. 

Birchfoot took the parchment and writing utensils from Meradin wordlessly, looking for somewhere to scrawl a note to his mother before moving towards Somer when she drew his attention with a nod and turned to offer her back. As he wrote he could hear the dragonkin grousing at the elven wolf once more, tuning it all out to try and explain himself to his parents.

The dragonkin’s attention had returned to the elf. “So how about it? If you don’t want people like me traipsing through your woods unsolicited, do you know of my mother among your people?”

“Yasandra came to visit her family, but her daughter had already left the forest and so she went seeking her elsewhere.”

Meradin stood blankly staring at the elf, his eyes blinking. “I have a sister?!” He looked like he had six million other things to say, but all he stammered out was a quiet question. “Do you know which direction they were headed last?”

“I suppose that would make you siblings yes, her name is Tatha, I believe she lives in the human settlement to the south, and that her mother followed her there.”

Birchfoot stopped writing immediately and looked over at the conversing pair. “That’s my mother’s name. How…?” It was clear he hadn’t been listening to the conversation.

Somer, who was trying to hold still for Birchfoot’s very important farewell letter, raised her brows with disbelief at what she was hearing and blinked quite a few times, trying to contain herself at the irony of what was happening behind her. Faustus’s giggles were barely contained by the cleric’s hand.

Almost in slow motion, Meradin turned back and forth between the dire elf and Birchfoot. His words failed him for several long drawn out breaths. He finally decided that words did not fit the situation, and just remained silent. Letting the information sink in and pondering all the ramifications. The whole situation was only made that much more surreal by the now-angrier muffled demands of Razen still trapped beneath the wolf-shaped elf.

“You’re discussing my mother?” Birchfoot tried again, abandoning his letter mid-sentence to straighten up and stare at them fully. He only half-glanced at the irritated flailing limb that was Razen. He was still moving, so at least he had enough air for now.

“This nice elf was informing me that your mother may actually be my sister.” Meradin paused for only half a breath. “Which makes talking to her even that much more important.”

“Ah… Pardon?” Birchfoot furrowed his brow. “My mother never mentioned a dragonkin brother. I would definitely recall that.” The day continued to grow more surreal with each passing second.

Thinking about all the possibilities, the dragonkin responded. “There are any number of explanations. I should talk to your mother, she should be able to clarify things.”

By the expression on Birchfoot’s face he clearly wished he could speak to his mother at length as well. “Yes, I think that’s the correct choice after all.” He turned back to Somer and his letter, penning only a few more rushed words before signing it and handing the parchment off to the dragonkin.

Meradin took the parchment from Birchfoot, and after making sure it was dry, rolled it up and methodically sealed it closed with some sealing wax he had in his backpack. He then put it into one of his scroll cases before looking up to the elf. “Are we done here then? I’ll need guidance back to the town from these people, and if you’re interested in peace, you probably don’t want to stick around when you let that half-orc you’ve been smothering go…” He let the thought trail off, thinking the elf should be able to understand what was being said.

The dire wolf glanced at Somer. “If you are ready for him.”

Releasing the were-hyena without a word, Somer rose and nodded at the dire wolf. With a responding nod the wolf shifted his weight, quickly bolting a few feet away from Razen who huffed and gasped, struggling into a more upward position. The poor half-orc was covered in sweat and leaves; his curly hair stuck to his head. Green-gray eyes glared balefully at the wolf.

With an eye roll at Razen’s expected aggression Somer prayed swiftly, and with a flick of her hands a glow emanated from them, and then around Razen’s body. With all her might she hoped that her spell would calm his emotions before it was too late. However it was immediately clear that this was not the case because the warrior launched himself bodily at the ‘wolf’, punching it square in the jaw.

Immediately Faustus launched herself forward, Dogmeat and Guardy running to keep up with the druid. “Razzy calm your shit!” She tried to jump on his back but he was just moving around too much. Dogmeat ran in to try and get between the combatants, but everyone was too close for the canine to cut in between.

Meradin launched himself bodily at the scrap as well, spreading his wings to propel himself faster. He was forced to backwing to stop himself short; putting one clawed hand on Razen’s shoulder instead. “Ok Razen. Tit for tat. He bit your head, you smacked his jaw. Let’s get going now.” His hand held firm to the half-orc’s shoulder, preventing the other man from moving forward.

With a exasperated sound Birchfoot unslung his bow from his shoulder, notching an arrow and holding it loosely. He was unsure if he would have to shoot Razen or the elf. But at least he could be ready if he needed to.

Seething at her failure to stop the half-orc, Somer clamped her hands together in prayer once more with a toothy snarl, and bright aura surrounding her once more. A blessing emanated from her across the party, save for the rage-blinded Razen. Across from him the wolf growled, nearly as irritated with being attacked suddenly as Razen had been with being held for so long. Its golden eyes flashed as it glared at Somer. 

“I thought you could control him?”

“ **What makes you think that there is any control in this group of incompetent adults?** ” Faustus more or less screamed at the dire wolf in annoyance as she tried to cling to Razen.

Meradin snipped back as well. “Thought you were supposed to be lighter on your feet than that. Get on your way, we’ll get this from here.”

Somer let out a disgruntled sound, shaking her head in shame at her lack of ability, “I never said that I could, merely that I was _ready_.”

Shaking his mane the wolf stepped quickly back away from Razen, still growling but at least not attacking the young man who seemed to grow angrier and angrier by the minute. Red light seemed to be growing in his eyes, a familiar sheen that those who had fought beside him could easily remember. With ease he shook Meradin’s hand off of himself, and closed the small distance that the wolf had tried to create. Again the enraged half orc punched the shapeshifted elf in the face, managing to stun it with the strength of his blow.

“Razen, stop this!” Birchfoot gestured with his bow at the half-orc, letting out a frustrated growl that did nothing to sway the berserking man. When he got no response Birchfoot sent an arrow flying into the ground at his feet, swearing loudly. “Stop it, you complete **child**.”

There was red in Razen’s eyes, his fangs bared as he turned toward Birchfoot. It was clear that he was no longer thinking rationally. Somer gritted her teeth, and yelled at the half-orc, “He is not your enemy, Razen! Please, think clearly once more!”

The young man fumed, pointing at Birchfoot. “He might not be, but this thing is!” He barked a threatening noise at the dire wolf.

The cleric tensed and thought quickly, her heart racing, “Listen to me, Razen! That ‘thing’ is not our enemy, we have been speaking to it while you have been unconscious! Look at yourself, did it injure you? It did not! And though you have hit it, is it fighting back? It is not! Calm yourself, you do not know the situation because you have not been awake to hear it!”

For a moment it seemed like the barbaric youth was not going to listen to reason, but he did have to acknowledge that he was wholly unharmed by the dire wolf. One which had not attacked him in spite of his heavy blows. Storm-green eyes turned on the creature and hesitantly he took a half step away from it, growling low in his throat as if to scare it away, though it stood its ground.

“Fine, so long as it stays away from me.” 

Sighing, Birchfoot lowered his bow and stalked towards Raz and the dire wolf, grabbing his arrow from the dirt and giving Raz a weighted stare before cleaning it off and walking away, shaking his head and setting his gear back to rights. Faustus sat down on the side, and Dogmeat flopped on top of her to try and cheer her sour mood. 

“Can we go now?” Faustus whined.

Meradin moved around to the other side of Razen, nodding to the dire wolf as he did so. “Thank you for your information about my mother. We will leave you now.” He turned back to Razen, and stretched his wings out a bit, trying to hide the large creature from Razen’s view.

“Information?” Razen’s brow furled, unsettled by Birchfoot’s stare and Meradin’s comfort with the dire wolf that was slinking further away from him. “What information? Can you talk to animals?”

Meradin grinned broadly, letting his sharp teeth show in his long mouth. “I can talk to you, can’t I?”

At this point Faustus put her face in her hand and wished she was back home eating zombies than here. Somer’s eyes bugged and vigorously shook her head at Meradin. The half-orc’s brow furled further, and then suddenly he grinned, flashing his pronounced canines and clasped Meradin on the shoulder hard enough to shake the other man a loud booming laugh leaving him. “Indeed!”

The cleric, shocked at the unexpected reaction to the insulting joke, spread her hands and looked on incredulously as Razen got all buddy-buddy with the dragonkin and didn’t instead go back into berserker mode.

“Let’s just go.” Birchfoot groused. 

With one last clap on Meradin’s shoulder Razen followed after the half-elf. “Where go we?”

Meradin walked closer to where Somer was standing and whispered quietly to her. “Can you possibly heal our ‘friend’ back there for anything that Razen might have done to him? If you have any to spare.”

The cleric raised her brows, agreeing with the suggestion, but when she turned around, the creature was nowhere to be seen. Her expression sobered at the empty space, wondering how the elf had ultimately felt about their encounter… likely not fondly. She turned back to Meradin, “I guess that suggestion is out the question, now. It is too bad, since I think we were very much more closely aligned with him than our current employers…”

“Footy and Merry need to get back to town to meet elf mum and then sneak away from the guards forever. Sunny and I probably should clear the camp completely and then leave this Hexwhore-loving-asshole of a land.” Faustus sulked as she trailed along behind the group

Razen’s cheeks mottled, turning an odd brownish-red color. “I can go to town, make sure that you guys don’t get lost?”

Birchfoot glared at him again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you? If memory serves you and Faustus are still technically indentured.” 

The half-orc nodded a bit but his brow was furrowed again in what was clearly a sign of confusion for him. “Won’t they be… curious if you show up without us though?”

The dragonkin let his wings fold back in as he walked to catch up to the younger men. “I think the point of this visit is to remain anonymous. As such, keeping the group as small as possible would be best.”

Razen shrugged but was relieved to see their campsite through the trees although there was nothing remaining of it but a dark spot where the fire had been. “We’re just going to wait here then?” 

“Maybe figure out where to go, where we are in relation to the world.” Birchfoot let some of his anger go, pinching his brow and looking tired before glancing at Meradin. “Quickly, in and out. If you need her to answer more than the minimum questions find a way to have her come out to the woods with you.”

Meradin reached into his pack and pulled out all of Razen’s equipment that he had packed earlier. As he took out the tent, he spoke some arcane words, mending the damage done when he was kidnapped. He handed the stack of equipment back to Razen. “Grabbed this for you.”

“Ah, thanks.” He offered a grin to the dragonkin, accepting his gear and realizing that it was going to need reordered now. With a short nod he headed over to where the camp fire had been and started to pack all of his stuff back into his own backpack.

“Oh,” Somer looked down at the fur she was still wearing and realized she should give it back to Razen, and stepped over to him. Razen turned at the sound of her foot, and she eyed him coolly. “Thank you for giving this to me last night. Here you are.” She slipped the fur off and held it out for him to take.

He accepted the fur, carefully draping it over his own shoulders where it was a comfortable familiar weight. “You can borrow it anytime.” Razen glanced at his gear, and pulled out some trail rations to offer back to her. “Looks like a cold meal while we wait for them to get back.” He nodded in the direction where already Meradin and Birchfoot were disappearing into the woods.

It would be a long wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now have a lot of wonderful art of the world and of the characters in this series available for you to check out on our blog [skyshipsanddragons](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/skyshipsanddragons) feel free to follow us if you'd like!!!
> 
> (Also yes the title of this one is from 'Dancing Queen' because Razen can't let anything go :"D)


	4. Hard Rock Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last_sorceress (aka Elm): Razan Diharth [ Barbarian ] (Elm is also our DM)  
> HeraldsEnjoin : Beiric “Birchfoot” Tatharion [ Ranger ]  
> Nervosa : Somer Ambrose [ Cleric ]  
> Maruna : Faustus Atethemall [ Druid ]  
> WhiteTigger: Meradin Thorin [ Wizard ]

As they grew closer and closer to Birchfoot’s home, the ranger seemed to grow more withdrawn; a look of frustration on his face. When they stopped at the marker where the forest ended and the woods began he put a hand on Meradin’s shoulder to halt the dragonkin. “I… I don’t know how many people will stop us along the way. You will be… an unusual sight. I apologize for what may be said or what the people here may do to make you uncomfortable.” 

Meradin met the half-elf’s eyes with his own. “Should I bring your mother out here to you? Is it safe for you to go into town?... What I mean to say is, saying goodbye to your mother through a letter is no way to do it.” He punctuated this by raising the scroll case up to flash it at Birchfoot.

“Safe enough, I suppose.” Birchfoot groaned and squatted down, resting his head on his knees for a moment. “But I should not. It would raise more questions and the less I need to lie the better.” 

He made a frustrated sound and looked up at the dragonkin. “I don’t even know if it would be wise for her to go with you to here. If she doesn’t know where I am, she will be unable to lie because she won’t know.” He rubbed his face. “I knew I would need to leave someday, I just did not think it would be without having a true chance to say goodbye.” 

The dragonkin sighed and pondered a moment, then nodded slightly to himself. He began to strip off all his equipment. His cloak, staff and backpack were all set in a pile next to himself. He then reached out towards Birchfoot. “Hand me your bow, and quiver. Put on my pack, cover it with my cloak, and use the staff as a walking stick. Nobody should recognize you.”

With a furrowed brow Birchfoot did as he was told, passing off his weapon and quiver to Meradin and dressing himself with the pack and cloak. The dragonkin helpfully made a few alterations to the disguise. “Let’s hope so, I suspect being caught in a lie would end poorly for both of us.”

If Birchfoot had been able to look at himself as Meradin could, he might have worried a little less. With the adjustments he looked far more like some hunched-backed old man than the lithe elf that he was. Meradin slung Birchfoot’s signature weapon and quiver onto his back and nodded once more at the disguise. “Let’s go.”

The pair walked uncontested through the town, most of the residents actively ignoring the pair and took little note of them. Thus they quickly arrived at Birchfoot’s home. The shop was closed of course with his father off at the capital without him, so they went around to the back and knocked on the door. After a few moments the slender form of Birchfoot’s mother opened the door.

“Hello?” She looked from the one to the other of them, clearly recognizing neither. “Are you dears lost?”

“Yes, I am in a way. My name is Meradin Thorin. I was told that my mother Yasandra might have passed through this area. Have you possibly seen or met her?” The dragonkin figured that his original intent provided as good an opportunity as any to get the pair into the house.

“{Mother, I’m sorry for the disguise but could we please come in? It’s Beiric.}” Birchfoot leaned on the walking staff and hoped what he was wearing wouldn’t disguise his voice too much.

Tatha’s eyes widened a little bit, and she grabbed her son’s arm, pulling him into the house. “Beiric!” She ushered Meradin inside as well, glancing around outside before closing the door and looking from her disguised son to his odd companion and back again. “Why are you dressed up like that… And… Wait.”

She stopped in the middle of her sentence and looked at Meradin again. “Did you say Yasandra?”

Meradin nodded. “Yes, but for the time, I can wait. {Talk to your son first.}”

“{It’s a strange story}” As Birchfoot explained the events of the last two days, he seemed intent on focusing entirely on his mother. While he was itching to take off the confining disguise he also didn’t know how much time they would actually have. So he kept it on, gesturing and finally winding down to the point where they had gotten Razen under control. 

“{I can’t set the village on the trail of the elf, Mother. It wouldn’t be right.}”

With the story told his mother sat down, more than a little amazed that so much had happened in such a short time. “{I had hoped that you would not have to make such a choice.}” Her soft words faded, and the troubled expression on her face gave away her thoughts. Once she had made a similar choice. Choosing exile from the elves who had never quite seemed like her own people for the love of Beiric’s father. Her eyes turned up toward her son. “{You will leave Greydor?}”

“{I have always said I would travel. I just thought it would be once Father retired.}” He looked over at Meradin and squeezed Tatha’s hand. “{But that isn’t the only reason we came. Please.}”

Meradin had been trying to stay out of Beiric’s time with his mother, busying himself with sorting through papers and flipping pages in a book. As he felt the attention in the room shift over to him, he looked up with the proper deer in headlights expression. He shuffled his papers again, handing Birchfoot the note he had made for his mother, then handing Tatha the one his own mother had left for him. “{Yes, my mother’s name is Yasandra. This is the last thing I have from her.}”

Uncertainty Tatha accepted the note, reading it over and then offering it back to the dragonkin. “{This… My mother’s name is also Yasandra, and she came a few years back when Beiric had just been born to see her grandson. She stayed to help me with him and visit with her relatives to the north but she left when he was five to visit the capital and I have not heard from her since. I assumed that she returned to Losantagellen.}”

Meradin listened thoughtfully and pondered. “{Which capital was she headed for? And is the danger she spoke of in her letter to me over?}”

“{She went to Malachite, I think she hoped to make a new treaty to protect the forest. I imagine that the conflict that was caused by the constant deforestation is the danger she meant… If your mother is mine as well, though I can not be sure. She never spoke of it with me.}”

Things started to weigh heavily on the dragonkin. What he heard was not good news for his mother. “{Does the handwriting match?}” He indicated the note from his mother that he still had not put away.

Tatha considered the question and rose to her feet, disappearing into her room for a few moments and returning with a few old letters that she offered to the dragonkin. “{These are letters that my mother wrote to me while she was in Losantagellen. Perhaps they can shed some light on the question for you.}”

Meradin’s shoulders slumped as he compared the notes side by side. He rolled up his own note and put it back in the scroll case, and then swallowed the feelings he was having. He put on a big smile and stood up to stand next to Tatha, offering her a hug. “{I had never realized I had a sister. It is good to meet you.}”

The half-elvish woman let out a little laugh that sounded surprisingly young in spite of her age, and gave him a small hug. “{If I had known that my mother’s love affair with that silver dragon beau of hers had given me a brother I would have written you long ago.}”

There was not much more to be said but the goodbyes which lingered. Finally the two had to leave, waving to Tatha who tried to keep her tears from falling and failed. She had little doubt that this would be the last time she ever saw the brother she had never known she had, or her son. Yet she was hopeful too, that they would keep one another safe.

\---

It was only a few hours before Meradin and Birchfoot returned, but little had happened in their absence save for that Faustus was pouring her attention over a paw full of berries which she was hoarding to herself. Razen had begun the time sharpening his spiked chain over and over again, only half bored until he had been able to entice the cleric into drinking with him. The reddish tint on their cheeks proved that they had both succumbed to the alcohol, and had more rounds than they had perhaps intended to. The half-orc had launched at some point into a hilarious and daring story of how he had killed the bear that he had turned into a fur, using the fur itself as a prop for his storytelling, oddly enough Somer seemed as amused and interested in the tale as he was and as the others returned they found the pair laughing loudly over its ‘corpse’.

Faustus noted the others return and shoved all the berries into her bag. Dogmeat and Guardy both got up to greet the returning party. They also looked like they are doing everything to ignore the maybe-a-bit-too-tipsy duo behind her.

“Welcome back. Did things go well?”

Meradin took only a moment looking at the two drinkers, finally realizing how the party had not dissolved already. “As well as could be expected I suppose. Beiric would be a better one to define that though.”

Birchfoot stalked over to the two drunken revelers, snatching the bottle out of Razen’s hand as he attempted to pass it to Somer. After he took a hearty swig he grunted, wrinkling his nose at the weak taste. “This couldn’t get a toddler drunk. It is done. Meradin is my kin, my mother is aware, there is nothing left but to decide where to go from here.” He sat down, pulling off the bits of his disguise and drinking down the alcohol after each piece was tossed aside onto the bearskin.

Razen half-frowned then half-grinned, disappointed at the loss of his drink but pleased that Birchfoot was joining them. “Have another drink, it’ll hit ya.” 

Meradin removed his own ‘disguise’ adding Birchfoot’s equipment to the growing pile on the bearskin and retrieving his cloak to settle it back on his shoulders. For the moment, he stayed away from the drink, letting the others partake instead.

Sporting a venomous glare, the drunken cleric huffed at Birchfoot for taking away her one escape from this horrid day. With a force unexpected from her, she nabbed the bottle right back from him and took another swig. Making a very satisfied sound as the alcohol happily trickled down her throat, she said, with what could only be described as a sad laugh, “I can’t believe thish! On the run again? I’ma fool!” Her last words echoed into the bottle as she went in for another drink.

The half-orc clasped Birchfoot on the shoulder a little harder than he intended to, and leaned into his space to get a little closer to Somer. “Let the man drink, you’rreg not the only one who… had a bad day. I hadst a wolf on my face!”

Faustus sighed and just slumped on the ground. Dogmeat promptly flopped on top of the dwarf hyena to ensure she would not do anything rash. “Do we have to repeat everything later to them when they are sober?” As for where to go next, she have no idea. Never managed to find a map of the land. Getting out of Samantra was basically her chasing the sun every day until the desert ended and the mountains began. 

Somer frowned exaggeratedly and closed her eyes, turning her head away from Razen in defiance. “Hmph! He shaid he didn’ like it anyway!”

“That does not mean I don’t want to at least attempt to get drunk.” Birchfoot snagged the bottle and took another long swallow, sighing and letting his head droop. “What is there to remind any of us of, little dwarf? We’re sitting in the woods with no plan and no direction to go. We have nothing, at this point.” 

“We have each other!” Razen pulled Birchfoot closer, giving the half-elf a hug. “And we have drink!”

With a disgusted face, Birchfoot pushed half-heartedly against the wall of muscle that was Razen. “For now.” He wrinkled his nose again at the drunkenness of his companions.

“Forever!” Razen boasted loudly, unswayed by Birchfoot’s push or his depression. “Wesh are arms and camarades!” 

Meradin tried to keep from laughing at the sight unfolding in front of last night’s fire pit. Instead, he let the cloak fall off his back to the ground, looked up at the tree canopy for a few moments, bent his legs and launched himself up into the air. His large wings sprung open and began beating at the air, carrying him up above the canopy to get a good look around at the surrounding countryside. It took only a moment for his form to vanish from sight, lost amid the reaching boughs of the forest.

Faustus looked up to see the only not drunk person - at least not even trying to get drunk - just get up and leave. She burrowed deeper into Dogmeat’s frame, trying to block out every sound outside. Guardy came over to help as she was also not very fond of the smell of alcohol. Together they huddled to the side, and Faustus whispered to them quietly in druidic. “{Tomorrow we are screaming. Loud and annoying.}”

It did not take long for Meradin to return, but it was clear that they were not going to make much progress on the group's actual concerns this evening. With the three bantering over the drink and conversation that ended with at least two of them happily drunk and Razen eventually falling asleep on top of the ranger whom could do little but sigh and give into the inevitability of it all. 

Thankfully the dragonkin lit the campfire to warm them, and the hours until dawn passed uneventfully. When the sun rose again, it was to the scent of breakfast cooking on the campfire. And the high-pitched sound of hyena laughter driving those that lingered abed after the night’s revelry from sleep. The noise jerked Razen upwards, thinking that the camp was being attacked, but the sudden motion and the smell brought all that he had been drinking last night back up. 

Onto the unfortunate elf that he had been sleeping atop.

With a start Birchfoot came awake, looking down at himself in horror before feeling his own bile rise at the odor of food and vomit. Pushing himself up and shoving hard at Razen he stumbled as far away as he could, retching into the brush not far from where he and the other two drinkers had fallen asleep in the night.

Somer whipped stick straight from her slumbering position so quickly her braid whipped up and around and smacked her in the face. Bloodshot eyes bulging and face twisted in indignation, she looked back and forth and finally over at the commotion, confused and horrified all at once as her hung over brain attempted to process what was happening around her.

Razen was equally horrified, hand over his mouth and on his feet which were somewhat unwilling to hold him for a moment. “Oh gods… I’m sorry Birch.. Gah, what is that forsaken smell?”

“Breakfast.” Meradin quipped up in a melodic tone.

The reaction was not what she had expected, but Faustus regretted nothing. In fact she was laughing again. High pitched and screeching to all those within ear shot. Both Guardy and Dogmeat were also barking,and wagging their tails; jumping on to any of them they could reach. For Guardy that was Somer. None of them are bothered by the stench of bile, or the breakfast. She had smelled worse in the desert. Guardy just seemed too energized and excited to notice the rancid scent.

“You guys brought this on yourself,” she commented, before letting out one more sharp bark. Then she trotted back to Meradin and help him with breakfast.

Razen growled threateningly at Dogmeat. “Quiet beasts!” He held his aching head and managed to walk over to Birchfoot without tripping over himself. “Are you alright?”

Birchfoot coughed and spat, pulling the shirt over his head and flinging it towards Razen’s feet. “Ugh.” Was all he managed to say, turning and spitting again to try and rid his mouth of the sharp taste of vomit.

Sympathetically Razen patted Birchfoot gently on the back, a low noise of agreement following. “Here, water.” He pulled the waterskin he carried from his belt and offered it to the half-elf.

Taking the waterskin Birchfoot nodded, wrinkling his nose at the combined smells of fatty food and whatever had been in his and Razen’s stomachs. “What is that horrible smell?” He rinsed his mouth, spitting once again before looking over his shoulder up at Razen.

The half-orc wrinkled his nose and cast a glance toward the fire. “Meradin. What is that terrible smell?”

Meradin tilted his head to the side, likely the dragonkin’s way of raising an eyebrow. “The food smells pretty good to me, must be… Something else you are smelling over there.” He looked back to the skillet he was using to cook in and started portioning the food out. “Some eggs I managed to find, a small bushy tailed animal, and some hardtack to wash it down with.” He looked up and grinned at the inquisitors.

Razen’s gaze shifted toward Birchfoot’s discarded shirt. Most of the offensive scent had been discharged there, and the young man arched a marked eyebrow at the ranger. “You should probably throw that out, and you’re welcome to as much of the water as you want for…” He motioned with his hand toward the half-elf in general. “Cleaning up.”

Birchfoot raised a brow and frowned. “No, I’ll wash it.” He stood up gingerly before looking at the others around the breakfast fire. “Perhaps you should… eat what your friend is making.” He grabbed his shirt and pulled a face at the mess Razen had left on it. Grabbing his bow and quiver he shuffled off towards where he remembered a stream flowing, with Razen trailing somewhat awkwardly behind him despite the ranger’s suggestion.

While the others had been fussing over the vomit and the stench of whatever Meradin claimed he was cooking, Somer had been attempting to remove the overexcited Guardy from her person. “Oh, by the -” the cleric blurted between foul-smelling face kisses and dog feet stabbing her in the gut, “You flea-ridden, ugh -!” another playful pounce connected with her chest, “Okay, alright, I give in!” Somer was able to push the dog off herself and sat up, and then proceeded to pounce down a bit with her own arms and obliged Guardy with some playing.

“Excuse you I ate all her fleas,” Faustus replied proud of the quite regular cleaning. Just as fun as sand bath, and much more nutritious. She whistled for Guardy to come back to her, deeming the cleric just a little less drunk than the others and probably can deserve shorter punishment. Guardy didn’t go back but she stopped pouncing to allow Somer to get back on her feet.

Dogmeat on the other hand had already left with Razen and Birchfoot, keeping a good distance from the half-orc but keeping the party in sight. Barking occasionally only for Faustus to know if they were alright.

Somer’s face twisted in exaggerated disgust at the mental-image of Faustus eating fleas, and trying to push it from her mind. She held her nose as she passed by the vomit, and staggered over to Meradin to take her portion of the food while she was still able to stomach it. She met eyes with the dragonkin and said in a nasal tone, “Danks for breffast.”

Nodding in confirmation, Meradin used the corner of his cloak to haul the skillet out of the fire and handed Somer her portion. Quietly, he stood up, leaving everyone else’s near the fire to keep warm as he walked over to where the vomit was on the ground to shovel some dirt onto it, partially hiding the smell. As the dragonkin started scuffing dirt over the debris a small bird landed beside him to peck at the remains, even squawking at him for daring to cover up it’s morning meal. 

Irritably the odd pale bird which looked to be horribly molted pecked at his leg twice in quick succession to try and get him to leave it alone. Somer, who had sat not far from the fire as to escape the mess that Meradin was cleaning, stopped mid spoonful and curled a lip at the creature incessantly screaming and now pecking at Meradin’s leg. It was the ugliest little creature she had ever seen, or heard for that matter. It had hardly any feathers to its birdy name, bat-like wings, a rat-like tail, and just… looked kind of like a featherless chicken, actually.

“Owww?! That hurts! Stop it!” The dragonkin’s leg was bleeding a bit from the punctures of the weird bird’s beak. He took a step backwards away from the aggressive bird and pulled out one of the clubs hanging on his belt. A low hiss accompanied the club as Meradin hurled it towards the desecrated looking bird, and hit it.

The sight of the blood and Meradin’s strong reaction signaled Somer to the danger the hideous little creature possessed. Taking a final gulp of food, she leapt to her feet and grabbed her staff. 

Faustus saw the bird, as ugly as a zombie. Therefore food. She immediately lunged after the thing, fangs bared and locked around the bird. Shaking it and gnawing on the creature.

Remembering how… diseased the creature looked, Somer gasped as Faustus caught the bird and started voraciously chewing, “Wait - Faustus! We don’t know what that thing is, or where it’s been, don’t eat it! Just kill it, do not eat it!” Faustus ignored her however, actually chewing faster. Determined to finish eating it before someone take it away from her. She did not forget the fact she was locked up for gathering the dead meat buried in the ground.

Growling at the blatant disregard of the child, not wanting to get between Faustus and her meal too closely, she thrust her staff at the side of Faustus’ maw to attempt to dislodge the foul thing. Unfortunately, Faustus was thrashing the thing around too violently, and the staff met only dead air. The cleric was cursing by this point; her blood boiling, “Damn you, you petulant - grrr!” She slammed her staff into the ground and dragged a palm down her face.

Taking a deep breath, Meradin pulled out another one of his clubs and debated for half a moment hurling it also. He quickly decided however that he was more likely to hit Somer or Faustus instead of the bird, he stepped forward and swung at the screeching bird in the werehyena’s mouth. His club hit the bird squarely on the wriggling tail and momentarily stopped the squawking as the bird overcame the temporary stun from being hit.

It thrashed quite a bit, nothing that Faustus couldn’t handle though. After that bash from the club and her thrashing, it finally laid limp in her mouth. Guardy trotted over salivating over the dead chicken, so she quickly tore the head off - that which she swallowed completely and proceed to try and tear off its wing to feed to her dog. 

As Meradin and Somer watched the druid tearing the creature apart in disgust - mostly on the part of the cleric, there was an angry screeching noise as more of the birds came raining down from the sky. The first of the featherless chicken-creatures landed on Somer’s head, flapping angrily and pulling her hair out with it’s beak. The other hovered in front of Meradin, talons at the ready as it tried to keep the dragonkin at bay.

Faustus dropped the dead chicken and starred starry eyed at the two newcomers. “More food!” She lunged after the one that was attacking Somer, smacking into the cleric who stood stock-still and unmoving.

The horrible sounds from camp had gone from the sort of chaos that Birchfoot had grown accustomed to and had been warped into something far more harried and to be blunt, loud. The half elf dropped his soaked and scrubbed shirt over a tree branch and turned his head. “What is that horrible screeching?” At the next set of squawks he grabbed his weapons and started making his way back to camp, his free hand clamping down onto Razen’s arm to pull him along.

It was clear from the moment that they burst back into the clearing that something had gone horribly awry while they were away. There were strange featherless birds screeching at Meradin and Faustus, wings flapping as the druid struggled to reach over Somer for the animal though the cleric - her pallor turned an odd color - seemed frozen in horror over the thing that had landed on her.

Having taken note of the changing color in Somer’s form, Meradin let out a string of curse words in several of his more colorful languages. He stepped back and to the side almost in surprise from the fluttering wings in front of his face and reached a hand into one of his pockets, flinging forth some of the contents of the pocket while chanting; a bloom of bright colors spread from his hand and enveloped both of the birds. The one trying to get in his face, and the one still atop Somer’s head. The flash of color had a visible effect on both birds, causing the bird in front of Meradin to drop to the ground, totally stunned, and the one on Somer’s head stopping its screeching and movement as it tried to get its bearing again.

The effect only lasted a few seconds however, and a moment later the bird in front of Meradin was launching itself at the dragonkin again and flapping its wings wildly in his face even as its companion ineffectually screeched at Faustus from its perch.

Faustus did not stop trying to reach the bird. She literally grabbed onto the now completely stilled cleric and climbed all the way up and leapt towards the bird, fangs and claws at the ready. Guardy could do nothing but bark and circle the group, hoping one of the chickens drop to her level so she could eat them.

Meradin swung his club at the fluttering form that kept trying to get into his face. The club connected with one of the wings, and he heard the crackling as bone shattered from the force of the impact. He continued to walk slowly and carefully backwards toward the fire, and drew his longsword.

Startled by the sight of the hideous beasts attacking his companions Birchfoot could only draw back his bow and fire an arrow at the bird currently perched on top of Somer’s greying head. It grazed it’s naked back. At his side Razen already had his spiked chain in hand, his nose curled in distaste, but like Birchfoot he had little time to worry about what these creatures were. 

So, rather than think he launched his weapon at the weird bird screeching at Birchfoot for injuring it. The spiked chain rattled harshly as it sung through the air toward the creature, it’s blades ripping the featherless monstrosities wing from its body. Taking another shot, Birchfoot clipped the same bird once again for all that it did. 

Faustus growled as she was forced to jump down from the statue. Both of the weapon were pretty darn close to her. She jumped on to Dogmeat, who have positioned himself just right for her to launched herself up again towards the other bird. Still trying to bite it. She missed again and landed on Guardy who yelped a bark of indignation.

Meanwhile Razen had already wound back his weapon and launched it for a second time at the bird defiling Somer’s head with it’s blood. The spikes caught in the creature’s ribs, and he ripped it free of it’s perch, its chest torn apart by the savage weapon and the impact of the earth. 

Meradin stepped forward and to the side, swinging his longsword in a high downward arc, hoping to knock the strange bird into the fire. Unfortunately, his aim was not very accurate, and the longsword passed ineffectually past the assailant. Part of the reason he missed was that the bird’s broken wing made its flight discordant, and finally it could no longer keep itself in the air. With one last-ditch effort it flapped its wings and launched itself on the person whom it hated most - Faustus. It’s beak scratched her shoulder, it’s wings flapping weakly as it let out blood-curdling noises.

Faustus just opened her mouth and chomped down on the bird, glad that she no longer had to jump up to try and catch one. It was still alive, but not for long as Guardy also joined in, grabbing on to the other wing and begin a small tug-o-war on the bird. Unfortunately Guardy also began to grow quickly gray, stilling even as her jaws clamped down on the bird. On the bright side the bird had no where it can go, trapped between two sets of jaws.

With a grunt Birchfoot shot off one more arrow, finally killing the last of the grotesque beasts and shaking his head at the destruction they had caused. “What happened here?” He moved closer, looking over the petrified dog and then up to Somer who was as grey as rough-cut stone.

Razen trailed behind him, his fingers sliding over her hair where the strange bird’s blood coated the stone. “Somer?” Gingerly he shook her shoulder but the statue she had become did not respond to his words or touch. More forcibly he tried again but with no better luck, and he looked at the others with a bewildered expression.

Meradin stared slightly blankly at the statue of Somer, but he did manage to get out a statement, sounding quite flat. “Breakfast attacked, and turned Somer and Guardy into stone.”

In response the ranger could only frown, his brows drawn tightly together as he looked over the stone figures of his companions. “Stone? Are they even alive then?” He walked around them, taking in the fact that Somer’s clothing had also become stone, leaving her trapped in a state of casual dress with her braided hair still hanging down her back. It was a bizarre juxtaposition with the natural forest around them.

Meradin pondered, grabbing one of the books out of his backpack and leafing through. “I think these creatures are related to gorgons and medusas. They have the power to turn living creatures to stone, but it can be reversed. Among other ways, through a stone to flesh spell. Unfortunately, those are beyond my ability to cast.” He flipped a few pages, rapidly reading the text. “There are other ways, not related to the arcane…” He trailed off as he tried madly to find a solution in the book.

Beside the statue Razen cautiously tapped Somer’s stone shoulder. “Perhaps we only need break this stone shell and free her?”

Meradin dropped the book, forgotten onto the ground and lurched forward to try and hold back the larger man. “Stop that! If you break her statue, you break her!”

The half-orc held up his free hand, eyes wide with surprise. “Okay, okay. It was just an idea.” He half frowned. “I don’t know magic… stuff.” Green-gray eyes glanced away uncomfortably.

Birchfoot snorted at Razen before pursing his lips and wandering over to Somer’s tent and beginning to rummage inside. It was still in perfect form as she had slept out under the trees with the other two drinkers. Her pack was where she had left it against her bedroll, and that was where he settled to search. It only took a moment before his hands wrapped around her waterskin. He remembered that at the elven shrine she had filled it with the blessed water. It was worth a chance at least, to see if it could help lift the stone curse.

When he came back out of the tent very little had changed. Faustus was still gnawing on the carcass of one of the creatures, her remaining dog chewing on another. The dragonkin and the half-orc still looking over the stock still bodies. “Would holy water save them?” He held the waterskin out towards Meradin.

Meradin picked up the book and brushed the ground off it before taking the waterskin from Birchfoot. He looked at the book and read a bit before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe?” He closed the book and took the stopper off the waterskin. “It’s worth a try. Unless we go back to the Elves for help, I don’t have anything else that might be able to help her.”

The half-orc bumped Meradin’s shoulder, encouraging him to pour the water on the cleric. “Let’s try that water then!”

The dragonkin glanced at Birchfoot for encouragement before upending the waterskin and pouring out a bit of the water on the head of the statue of Somer. He held his breath to see if anything would happen. Immediately a faint color returned to her skin and to her clothing which had been turned gray, but she did not again draw breath until nearly the whole of it was emptied out. Even then her motions, the blinking of her eyes and the draw of her breath was slowed. Meradin continued pouring till the waterskin ran dry, sparing a glance down to the still form of Guardy as the last drop fell onto Somer’s head.

“Okay really all of it?” Faustus swallowed her mouthful of dead zombie bird. It’s not a real complaint she knew some kind of spell would probably will help Guardy, but at the same time she didn’t want to haul a dog statue around.

“I’m sorry Faustus. The effect didn’t seem to be complete till the whole thing was poured out… Maybe we can go get some more?” The dragonkin looked at Faustus, seeming to understand her plight.

The moment the last of her body became malleable once again, Somer clenched her fists and swung them down hard, and let out a scream of frustration. Blessed water streaming down her face, mixed with the blood of the creature that had turned her, her anger and terror came bursting out. She had been aware for the entire battle, helpless, and not once did any of them take notice before it was over.

She jerked her head towards Razen, her face twisted in rage, “YOU! You wanted to break me open without a second thought?! You truly are a damned fool, you, you -”

Razen’s broad grin of happiness at seeing Somer finally breathing once more - flesh rather than stone - turned immediately turned to confusion and displeasure. “What? It… it was a good idea!”

Meradin looked at his book, excitement in his eyes and then ran off to his pack to retrieve a pen, some ink, and started taking notes in the margins of the book. “Blessed Wee Jas, she was aware of what was going on. I have to write about this back to the author of the book!”  
“Somer.” Birchfoot interrupted any further outburst from the cleric, grabbing her shoulder firmly but not harshly in any way. His eyes were serious when they looked over the sopping wet woman. “I need you to take off your clothes.”

Somer’s face fell and hardened. To the untrained eye it looked as if perhaps she had calmed, but truly by now she was absolutely seeing red. The situation only made worse by Faustus who was on the ground and cackling.

“What?!” Somer’s shriek echoed through the trees.

“Really!?” Meradin looked up from his writing, echoed by an astonished Razen.

“It’s for the dog.” Birchfoot raised his brows at the astonished and disgusted looks on their faces. “Wrapping the dog in her soaked clothing may help it.” He was clearly also aware of his faux pas and amused by its fallout. He looked over at Faustus, amused at her hysterical laughter.

Somer grabbed Birchfoot’s collar so tightly her knuckles turned white, and she looked directly into his eyes, her own still bulging in fury. Her voice came out as a harsh whisper, “Birchie… perhaps,” she closed her eyes a moment and readjusted her jaw, trying to contain herself, “Next time, you should state the reason for your request of someone to undress before you make the request?” She flashed a not-so-friendly grin to punctuate her point.

Razen tilted toward Meradin, his voice lowered into a whisper that was not nearly as quiet as he thought it was. “She wouldn’t really… out here?”

It was clear that Birchfoot was trying not to laugh, letting Somer man-handle him without losing her cool and attacking him. “Perhaps next time.” He gently patted her shoulder, tipping his head towards her tent. “But for now, you’re drying quickly. It would be good to save the dog so we don’t have to haul it around.”

“You boys wanna die?” wheezed between laughter. Faustus could fully imagine the cleric grabbing the nearest stick and go to town on everyone in her presence. Meradin simply shook his head and turned his full attention back to his book, busying himself with his notes.

Somer shook with anger, her mouth contorting into an even deeper frown and her chin jutting out. She released Birchfoot’s collar harshly, and not wanting to see the dog succumb to the fate she narrowly escaped, she stomped towards her tent, all the while growling, “Oh, yes, and whose fault is it that we have been standing around because you can’t properly…! No, no, not even a ‘Are you alright, Somer?’ ‘Are you hurt?’ Rrrgh!”

The group hung around the campfire that Meradin had rekindled this morning awkwardly waiting for the cleric to return which she did a moment later redressed in her armor and holding her wet clothes which she thrust at Birchfoot irritably, still frowning furiously at him. Birchfoot thanked her before wrapping her holy water soaked clothing around Guardy, covering the hound from toe to tip. He knelt by her stoney body, waiting to see if his hunch would bear fruit.

After a long moment it was clear that the soaked clothing was not having much effect on the statue. Then, it slowly shifted, the clothing falling in a lump onto the ground. Guardy, was still gray, still clearly stone, but slowly the dog’s eyes blinked and its jaws shifted into a wolfish grin. 

“Guardy!” Faustus immediately went forward and nuzzle into the stone dog. Guardy doesn’t seem to notice the change and just attempt to lick her with the stone tongue. Which turn into become a sandstone brushing but Faustus doesn’t quite mind. Dogmeat also come in trying to groom the fur but find it mostly stone. Bright side is the fact that she doesn't have to worry about Guardy being hit and bleed out anymore. Though the stone dog seemed to be moving unnaturally slow.

Meradin looked up from his writing, his pen hovering just above the paper as he looked wide-eyed and agape at the stone dog.

Somer’s brows lifted at Guardy’s new form, perplexed, but relieved, that the lovable creature still lived. She promptly snatched her damp clothes from Birchfoot’s hand, as it was obvious all that could be done with them for the time. “Thank you!” she quipped, and then looked back down at Guardy, “Very good, she still lives thanks to your quick thinking,” her eyes shot back at Birchfoot venomously, “Though you are still lacking in the way of tact.”

Patting the back of the stony dog, Birchfoot flashed Somer a charming smile. “That may be why we all get along so well.” The insinuating notion that Somer herself was lacking in tact hanging clearly between them. “Instead of picking up lessons in manners perhaps we should find a way to unstone little Guardy.” 

Razen eyed the stone canine uncomfortably, taking a huge step away from the creature and clearly trying to put Birchfoot between himself and Guardy. “We should just leave it here.”

“Fuck you Razen,” Faustus said flatly and continue to coo over her now stony companion.

Immediately the half-orc turned an odd ruddy color, drawing himself up and making himself appear much larger than he really was. “What?!?” He roared the word at the small girl.

Faustus did jump a little but at the same time it was more from surprise than anything. She tilted her head back, stared right at him. “You heard me.” If she was afraid she wasn’t showing it.

“Stop, both of you!” Birchfoot stood up from his crouching position to gesture irritably at first Razen and then Faustus. “The poor hound has helped us too many times to be abandoned because you’re uncomfortable. If you think you can go about your life and manage to avoid the ways of magic you had best be prepared to live the life of a hermit.” He glared at Razen once more for good measure. 

“And you.” After dismissing Razen as if his reaction did not matter the ranger whirled on the misshapen hyena girl who was still bristling. “You and the cleric both know that Razen is an idiot. When has provoking him done any of us any good? If we want to continue as a group we must manage to cohabitate.” Blowing out an irritated breath through his nose Birchfoot pursed his lips and waited for one of them to rebute.

Throughout that whole time she didn’t face him, which was just as well because she was making mocking gesture to her dogs. Badly mimicking Birchfoot lecturing him. When he was done she just rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes dad,” she said it dripping with sarcasm.

She know completely that she should not have provoked Razan but at the same time she clearly didn’t give a fuck.

The cleric had been watching the verbal foray, and it quickly became quite clear it was escalating as Birchfoot’s frustration tumbled from his mouth. The moment the word ‘idiot’ was pointed at Razen, she knew she needed to step in. For just a second before that word the half-orc’s mouth had closed as if he might actually back down, but the rage that lit in his eyes was one that she was unfortunately all too familiar with. She took hold of her staff, and with as stoic a gaze she could muster, Somer took a couple steps forward and smashed her staff against the food-encrusted skillet that had been so innocently sitting next to the fire. The wood against the iron made a thunderous crack as the skillet and remaining scraps went airborne and landed with a sickening thud.

“ENOUGH!” Her shout echoed through the trees even more loudly than when a certain ranger had proposed she undress. She then slammed the end of her staff into the ground beside her for good measure.

“All you, ‘dad’ included, need to calm yourselves!” She lowered her chin and gave a pointed finger to Razen, “Razen, you are jumping to conclusions far too quickly, as Birchfoot has said, Gaurdy has been an asset to this party and has done nothing to you.” Next was Faustus to be at the end of a finger, “Faustus, I understand you’re angry that Razen would suggest abandoning your friend, but as father dear has said already, you know that Razen does not take kindly to insults, and you too must learn to hold your tongue,” and last was Birchfoot, “And you should be taking your own bloody advice!”

Somer then lifted her staff and twirled it once, and jabbed it up at the book in which Meradin’s nose was still stuck, but unfortunately, the dragonkin was too quick for her and duly dodged it. However, it was still good enough for her purposes, to get his attention.

“And you! Get your head out of the clouds and put those brains you obviously have to use as our idiot companions murder each other!”

The moment of silence following Somer’s tirade was punctuated by the muffled slap of a book being snapped shut. Whether it was because Meradin was done writing, or because of Somer’s words would remain a mystery for the moment. The book was placed carefully on the ground next to him as he rose from where he had been sitting. The dragonkin stalked almost blindly past the fire, seemingly ignoring Somer and the rest of the party, staring intently at Razen. He walked up, getting close to the other, and staring up at his eyes. He spoke softly “Drop it, they can’t understand and they’re not worth it.”

Confusion quickly faded into a dumbfounded expression, then with a quick flash of embarrassment Razen’s eyes shifted away from Meradin. Gruffly he shifted his weight and in a near whisper of grumbling he offered a half shrug. “Yea. I’m… I’m going to clean up this mess and…” He motioned to the ruined breakfast laying all over the ground and then flicked his eyes toward the group and lowered his voice into an actual whisper. “You deal with that one.”

Meradin nodded and turned around to face the rest of the group. “I know we’ve all been through a lot, but I don’t know if you all can hear what you sound like.” He glanced at Somer. “My head is in the clouds, you’re right. But it doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention to what’s going on around me, and from what I’ve seen…” his gaze wandered across the makeshift campsite, “we all have a tendency to turn to insulting others when things aren’t going well.” His gaze stopped on Birchfoot. “My nephew did have the right of one thing though. We are going to need to work this out, find a better way I hope.”

As the dragonkin spoke Razen silently started picking up the mess, the bits of egg, squirrel and even the odd chicken-creature which had mostly been eaten by the dogs. He kept his distance from the group, his storm-green eyes flickering toward Meradin once in awhile but otherwise he had nothing to contribute.

Birchfoot managed to look properly chastised, though Somer’s words had made his hackles rise his uncle’s had him looking over at Razen’s back and the way he seemed… smaller. Pinching the bridge of his nose he nodded and shoved his hair over his shoulder before going to help the half-orc. “Razen,” he started, crouching next to the other man and beginning to help clear away the remains of the breakfast. He tossed a completely dirt encrusted chunk of mystery meat into the flames before continuing, pitching his voice low enough that the others could not hear him. “You’re from a secluded tribe, aren’t you?”

He had run into orc-blooded people before on the road and within the great city of Malachite. Traveling with his father in his youth had allowed him the contact, and while he had never met any with Razen’s sets of problems he had heard the stories. A hierarchy where strength ruled, kindness was few and far between in the sense people he had been raised with understood. 

It reminded him of the way wolves ran, one leader to guide them, all the others following by example. Everyone was taken care of, but not with kindness. With strength. It was bewildering but also hurt the ranger’s heart to think of.

Razen glanced toward Birchfoot, not answering for a while, and still clearly defensive. However he finally offered another half shrug. “Yes… my tribe has not raided south since… since my father took my mother from these forests.”

Birchfoot swore under his breath. He could have family here, in the village or more likely the elves. “I am sorry, Razen. I shouldn’t have let my temper get the best of me. You’ve been showing us your strengths and we aren’t appreciated them.” Reaching out, the ranger clapped his hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “Your strength is appreciated. I don’t think we would still be here without it.”

Green eyes met gold solidly, and perhaps for the first time the two really were looking at one another. Thoughts flickered through Razen’s eyes, but mostly they remained to him alone, and after a moment he pulled away from the half-elf. “You’re welcome.” He stood and dumped a pile of refuse in the fire. For all he stood there stoically trying to put this entire thing behind him - beyond the fact that he refused to look at the hyena-girl beside her dog - Birchfoot could tell that he was still hurt by the way that the group and Birchfoot himself had been treating him.

Throughout the whole time Faustus refused to look up at any of them. In fact she has been gnawing on the cockatrice skull for a bit. Dogmeat huffed at the behaviour and headbutted her on the side. She just glared unhappily at her dog.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know how orcish clans worked. Her Pa had explained to her; specifically before she left the family to go out the desert. He had tried to explain the societies beyond the sand and how most of them operated. He had more specifically told her not to piss them off. She felt guilty now, not because Razen was hurt, but more because she hadn’t really followed her Pa’s instructions.

She thought about giving the now completely cleaned cockatrice skull to him as peace offering. However at the she suspected he was ignoring her because he saw himself as Alpha and by Obad-Hai she would never recognise him as the Alpha of any pack. Particular this one. So she mumbled a half-hearted, “sorry.” and left it as that. Dogmeat still nudged her, and she finally stood back up. She padded straight towards Meradin and handed him the clean skull. “Sorry.” This time more sincerely.

She knew she was being a bitch, but not everyone had to suffer that though.

Meradin had stood silent, trying to casually listen in on the exchange between the others, and when Faustus brought him the skull, he smiled at her, crouching down next to her to take the skull from her. “Thanks. You know we all care about you here, and would really regret it if something bad would happen to you or your friends.” He looked up briefly at the two dogs.

Somer had stood pondering as the air changed from electric to downright chilly. While Meradin had a point that they all had been resorting to arguing, it was clear that very little understanding existed between them all, and that was likely their problem. Either way, she was no good at comforting others, and chose to return to her tent to re-cloth herself properly.

It seemed later in the day than it actually was by the time that Somer redressed and the mess which the morning had led to was cleaned up. Much had happened in a short time, and the group was still tense with things left unspoken. There was still a need to address what to do about Guardy’s condition and it was a tense discussion that Razen did his utmost to remain outside of. His stance on the fate of the canine was clear, and in the end it took some convincing for Faustus to realize that her dog truly did need to be returned to its natural state. 

Thankfully Meradin remembered the way back to the clearing perfectly, and they were able to return to the site in short order. There the helpful cleric of the moon goddesses was more than happy to guide Guardy into the pool where the magic returned her to her flesh and blood once more. In the peace of the glade the group conversed at length about what to do next. Perhaps it was another blessing of those three that though they had dissenting views on what path they should take, the discussion this time at least did not dissolve into an argument.

The dragonkin was the first to break the subject, hopeful of finding his mother or at least determining what had become of her. The very thought sparked in Birchfoot as well whom could easily admit that he was curious to learn more about his grandmother, and felt a certain amount of familial obligation toward Meradin though they had only just learned of their kinship. Razen was quick to add his own support to the idea, simply stating that where Meradin went he would gladly follow, and that he had no fear of the laws of Greydor which they were breaking.

This of course was not the case with Somer, who was more conscious perhaps than the others of the price that came with breaking laws. Birchfoot was able to allay her fears somewhat, reminding her that their crimes were of a lesser nature and that it would be several days at least before anyone would begin to wonder as to what was taking them so long. Which meant in the long run that if they were going to look for Meradin’s mother - now was the time. The longer they waited the more risk there was that someone would be looking for them.

Of course, Somer’s concerns remained, lingering even as Faustus asked about what they might find in the city. The druid was clearly uncertain as to if she should follow this ragtag little group further into a country that had already locked her up once. However both of them could admit that there might be other things there in the city of Malachite worth exploring before they put this country behind them. After all, it was entirely possible that they would never again be able to return without risking whatever punishment Greydor’s government placed upon them for their failure. Not that either woman had any desire to look back on the country once they were finally free of it.

So with their heading chosen the group headed out once more, heading south toward Jalo and the roads which would lead them straight into the heart of the kingdom.


End file.
